THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


rUND.PSY. 


THE    FUNDAMENTALS   OF 
PSYCHOLOGY 


J^, 


THE  FUNDAMENTALS   OF 

PSYCHOLOGY 


A  BItlEF  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT 
OF  MENTAL  TRO CESSES 

FOR  THE  USE  OF  TEACHERS 


BY 
BENJAMIN  DUMVILLE,  M.A.  Lond.,  F.C.P. 

MASTER    Ol'-   METHOD    AND    LECTURER   ON   EDUCATION   IN   THE 
L.C.C.    ISI,iNGTO-V   PAY   TRAINING   COLLEGE 


BALTIMOUE,    MD.,    U.S.A. 

WARWICK    &    YORK,    INC. 

llnivciaite  tutorial  ipvess  XD. 

ENGLAND 

3  6^  7  ^  ^ 


I  og-i 
X>99 

PREFACE. 


Whether  we  choose  to  call  it  psychology  or  not,  some 
study  of  the  mental  processes  of  the  child  must  be  under- 
taken bj  all  those  who  aspire  to  educate  him.  The  only 
serious  objection  which  can  be  made  to  the  inclusion  of 
"psychology  as  such"  in  the  curriculum  of  a  training 
college  is  that  frequently  what  is  taught  is  not  psychology 
at  all.  It  consists  of  a  number  of  definitions  of  technical 
terms,  without  any  real  attempt  to  give  an  insight  into  the 
processes  referred  to  by  those  terms :  it  "  furnishes  the 
student  merely  with  a  psychological  phraseology  and  not 
with  any  real  knowledge  of  mental  processes."  ^ 

Some  have  suggested  that  the  psychology  taught  in  a 
training  college  should  be  taken  entirely  on  inductive 
lines.  We  should,  according  to  these  people,  examine  the 
teaching  of  the  various  subjects,  and  our  psychology 
should  arise  out  of  this  examination.  There  is  much  to  be 
said  for  this  view.  But,  luider  such  circumstances,  the 
psychological  teaching  would  be  very  sporadic  and  uneven. 
For,  in  these  days,  the  teaching  of  the  vai-ious  subjects  is 
often  placed  under  the  control  of  the  special  lecturers  in 
those  subjects,  and  the  amount  of  psychological  insight 
must  vary  greatly. 

It  is  significant,  too,  that  much  of  the  best  work  in 
connection  Avith  the  principles  of  teaching  the  different 
subjects  has  been  done  by  those  who  have  had  a  pre- 
liminary training  in  "  pure  "  psychology.  A  clear  insight 
into  the  mental  processes  involved  does  not  arise  readily 

'  Darroch,  The  Place  of  Pay<iholo(j_y  in  the  Tra'uiuKj  of  the  Teacher, 
p.  12. 


PREFACE. 


from  attention  to  tlie  methods  of  teacliing  alone.  A 
knowledge  of  mental  processes  acquired  by  the  traditional 
reading  and  lecture  methods  goes  far  to  enlighten  the 
inductive  inquiry  in  the  realm  of  the  special  subject. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  tendency  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  induction  does  not  start  merely  from  the  concrete. 
Induction  in  the  true  sense  is  an  examination  of  the 
concrete  directed  by  certain  ideas  which  we  already  possess. 
True,  it  is  the  recognised  inadequacy  of  those  ideas  which 
leads  us  to  seek  further.  But,  such  as  they  are,  they 
nevertheless  guide  oiir  researches.  3Ian  sieht  mir  v:as  man 
weiss.  The  more  one  already  knows,  the  more  definitely 
can  one  seek  for  further  knowledge.  The  Fragestellung 
is  the  most  important  preliminary  to  induction,  and  it  can 
only  be  framed  on  the  basis  of  the  knowledge  which  we 
already  have. 

The  student,  therefore,  who  comes  to  the  consideration 
of  the  methods  of  teaching  a  given  subject  with  some 
notions  of  mental  process  already  formed  is  more  likely  to 
understand  the  nature  of  his  task  than  one  who  begins 
his  inquiry  without  any  clear  conception  of  mind  and  its 
working. 

"  Unless  the  student  of  education  undertakes  the  study 
of  Psychology,  in  the  first  place,  for  its  own  sake  and  in 
order  that  he  may  understand  wdiat  goes  on  in  the 
acquisition  and  organisation  of  experience ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  in  order  that  he  may  gain  a  knowledge  of 
how  to  regulate  the  acquisition  and  organisation  of 
experience  within  the  minds  of  his  pupils,  then  he  can 
never  carry  on  his  work  in  a  truly  professional  spirit."  ' 

By   all  means  let  the   preliminary   outline   of   mental 

'  Danocl),  op.  cit.,  p.  8. 


PREFACE.  Vll 

processes  be  in  close  touch  with  school  work.  lu  this 
book  continual  reference  is  made  to  teaching.  Almost  all 
the  illustrations  deal  with  cases  which  arise  in  connec- 
tion Avith  the  school.  The  student  who  works  carefvilly 
through  the  bjok  Avill,  therefore,  approach  the  question 
of  "  special  method "  with  some  tolerably  clear  ideas  of 
the  nature  of  his  problem. 

To  each  chapter  questions  liave  been  appended.  Some 
of  these  require  merely  careful  reprodnction  of  the  matt<n' 
dealt  with  in  the  chapter.  Others,  however,  require  the 
application  of  the  ideas  dealt  with  in  the  chapter  to  new 
problems.  In  all  cases  the  questions  should  furnish  a 
stimulus  to  careful  reading  and  understanding.  The 
writer  attaches  considerable  importance  to  such  questions. 
Students  can  easily  be  induced  to  read  aud  vaguely  under- 
stand text-books  in  psychology.  But  such  work  is  of  little 
value  unless  it  is  rendered  strenuous  and  exact  by  the 
attempt  to  answer  questions.  It  depends,  after  all,  on  the 
same  principles  as  those  which  lead  us  to  require  clear  and 
connected  reproduction,  or  the  working  of  exercises,  from 
the  school  children. 

It  might  be  pointed  out  that  the  lecturer  who  adopts 
such  a  book  as  this  can  frame  his  own  questions.  The 
writer  does  not  presume  to  limit  the  ingenuity  of  any 
lecturer,  or  to  dictate  the  special  methods  to  be  pursued. 
He  merely  desires  to  save  some  time  and  trouble.  For 
it  takes  considerable  time  and  trouble  to  frame  suitable 
questions.  And  there  is  the  further  time  necessary  for 
comuiuuicatiug  them  to  the  students.  The  lecture-period 
is  all  too  short  without  cutting  into  it  for  such  purposes. 
The  writer  in  dealing  with  this  course  in  his  own  classes, 
indeed,  took  the  trouble  to  "  graph  "  copies  of  the  questions, 
so  that  time  mifrht  be  saved. 


VUl  PREFACE. 

A  glance  at  the  foot-notes  will  reveal  the  author's 
immense  indebtedness  to  a  great  number  of  psychologists, 
especially  to  McDougall  and  James.  A  great  deal  of  the 
latter  portion  of  the  present  book,  dealing  principally  Avitb 
conation,  is  inspired  by  Mr.  McDougall's  brilliant  treatise 
on  Social  Psycliology. 

It  is  hoped,  therefore,  that  the  psychology  expounded  in 
this  book  will  be  found  thoroughly  "  sound."  While  the 
author  has  emphasised  the  effects  of  pleasure-pain  more 
than  some  writers  seem  inclined  to  do,  he  ventures  to  assert 
that  he  has  assigned  to  conation  all  the  importance  which 
the  modern  views  of  mind  require. 

The  book  aims  at  being  thorough,  though  short.  It 
attempts  to  be  more  than  a  shght  sketch,  skimming  over 
the  surface,  with  a  few  vague  explanations  of  technical 
terms.  The  student  who  reads  it  carefully,  and  reflects 
upon  it,  should  have  a  real  knowledge  of  mental  processes. 
At  the  same  time,  comparatively  unimportant  detail  has 
often  been  completely  ignored. 

No  apology  is  made  for  repetition,  or  for  a  somewhat 
familiar  style.  This  book  is  essentially  a  teaching  book, 
and  aims,  before  all  else,  at  making  the  student  understand, 
even  at  the  cost  of  reiteration  and  forceful  expression. 

Any  criticism,  especially  from  those  who  vise  the  book  in 
their  classes,  will  be  thankfully  received. 

BENJAMIN  DUMVILLE. 
Sejiteniber  1912. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Need  of  a  Study  of  Psychology  as  a  Basis 

FOR  Educational  Theory 1 

II.     MixD  AND  Body .  15 

III.  Preliminary  Analysis  of  Mental  Phenomena     .  35 

IV.  Sensation 44 

V.     Perception 61 

VI.     Imagination 83 

VII.     Ideation  (I.) 100 

VIII.     Ideation  (II.) 129 

IX.     Ideation  (III.).— Reasoning 159 

X.     Memory 202 

XI.     Conation  and  Feeling 232 

XII.     The  Instincts  and  Innate  Tendencies  .        .        .  248 

XIII.  The  Nature  and  Development  of  the  Sentiments  282 

XIV.  The  Will 302 

XV.     Attention  (I.) 315 

XVI.     Attention  (II.) 340 

Index 370 


THE 

FUNDAMENTALS    OF    PSYCHOLOGY. 


CHAPTEK  I. 


The  Need  of  a  Study  of  Psychology  as  a  Basis 
FOR  Educational  Theory. 

Until  quite  recent  times,  the  only  characteristic  c[tialifi- 
catiou  of  a  teacher  was  considered  to  be  that  he  must 
know  the  matter  which  he  sets  out  to  teach.  True,  this 
has  seldom  been  regarded  as  the  sole  qualification.  It  has 
long  been  known  that  good  students  are  sometimes  poor 
teachers — especially  where  many  pupils  are  to  be  taught 
together.  The  power  of  control,  a  somewhat  mysterious 
means  of  influencing  others  to  attention  and  obedience, 
has  always  been  considered  an  important  additional 
qualification.  It  has  also  been  expected  that  the  teacher 
should  be  a  person  of  good  moral  character.  But  these 
qualities  being  taken  for  granted,  the  chief  requirement 
has  usually  been  a  knowledge  of  the  subject  or  subjects 
which  it  is  proposed  to  teach. 

This  conception  of  the  qualified  teacher  still  holds  the 
field  in  many  universities  and  secondary  schools.  It  is,  of 
course,  recognised  that  education  includes  more  than 
instruction.  Instruction  is  the  mere  imparting  of  informa- 
tion or  guidance.  Education  is  the  cultivation  of  all  the 
moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  powers.  In  its  widest 
sense  it  includes  all  the  influences  which  act  upon  the 
individual.  "  Whatever  helps  to  shape  the  human  being, 
to  make  the  human  being  what  he  is,  or  hinder  him  from 

FUND.  PSY.  1 


2        THE  NEED  OF  A  STUDT  OF  PSYCHOLOGY. 

being  what  lie  is  not,  is  part  of  his  education  "  (J.  S.  Mill). 
Universities  and  schools  influence  the  individual  who 
enters  them  in  many  more  ways  than  those  confined  to  the 
lecture  or  lesson.  Many  teachers  educate  their  pupils  far 
more  by  their  personal  example,  and  by  their  general 
influence  over  them,  than  by  the  definite  instruction  which 
they  give  to  them.  The  tradition  and  rejDutation  of  a 
school  or  university  have  often  a  most  lasting  effect  on  the 
lives  of  its  alumni.  For  a  large  number  of  young  people 
the  education  obtained  by  contact  with  fellow-pupils,  both 
in  work  and  play,  is  far  more  important  than  either  the 
instruction  or  the  other  educational  influences  received 
from  the  teachers.  And  this  is  some  justification  for 
those  parents  who  send  their  children  to  schools  where  the 
teachers  are  poorly  qualified,  but  where  most  of  the 
children  are  respectable  and  of  good  manners. 

But,  although  all  this  is  usually  admitted,  it  is  still 
thought  in  some  quarters  that,  as  far  as  the  insti-uction 
alone  is  concerned,  a  knowledge  of  the  subject  on  the  part 
of  the  teacher  is  the  only  essential.  Almost  every  reflect- 
ing person  agrees  that  it  is  a  most  important  qualification. 
Tet  at  least  one  distinguished  educationist  has  denied 
its  necessity.  Jacotot,  a  French  professor  of  the  early 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  went  so  far  as  to  maintain 
that  the  teacher  need  not  know  the  subject  to  be  studied, 
that  a  man  can  cause  pupils  to  learn  what  he  does  not 
know  himself.        * 

There  is  some  truth  in  this.  It  is  tnie  that  the  pupils 
in  some  cases  learn  more  of  the  subject  than  the  ^|cher 
explicitly  expounds.  It  is  true,  as  w^e  shall  see  n^e 
clearly  later  on,  that  we  ought  not  to  tell  the  pu  Js 
everything,  but  should  rather  induce  them  to  discj^r 
much  for  themselves.  It  is  true  that  a  person  who  has 
studied  some  subjects  himself  can  in  a  general  way 
direct  the  efforts  of  pupils  in  other  and  similar  subjects 
which  he  has  not  himself  attacked.  It  is  also  certain  that, 
withoitt  giving  any  direct  guidance,  one  may  supply 
motives  which  will  induce  the  pupils  to  attack  subjects 
entirely  by  themselves.  Thus  a  parent  used  to  offer  his 
childi-en  a  penny  for  each  of  Wattfi's  hymns  which  was 


THE  NEED  OF  A  STUDY  OF  PSYCHOLOGY.        d 

learned  correctly  by  heart.  Where,  however,  the  best 
possible  progress  is  to  be  made,  and  where  the  subject 
rises  above  such  mechanical  processes  as  learning  by 
heart,  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  teacher  or  parent  who 
holds  himself  responsible  for  the  learning  can  be  most 
successful  when  he  is  himself  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
subject  in  question. 

Yet  a  knowledge  of  the  subject  to  be  taught,  though  a 
necessary  preliminary  qualification,  is  far  from  being 
sufficient.  Even  if  we  tvxrn  aside  for  the  moment  from 
the  broad  view  of  education  as  a  process  whereby  the 
many-sided  nature  of  the  child  is  harmoniously  developed, 
and  confine  ourselves  merely  to  that  part  which  is  con- 
cerned with  instruction  in  certain  branches,  we  shall  find 
that  knowledge  of  the  subject,  by  itself,  will  not  carry  us 
far.  Too  often  instruction  is  considered  as  a  mere  giving. 
If  I  have  a  penny,  I  can  give  it  to  you.  If  I  know  the 
name  of  a  person,  I  can  tell  it  to  you.  The  thing  seems 
simplicity  itself.  Yet  even  in  these  uncomplicated  cases 
more  is  necessary.  I  must  be  assured  of  a  capacity  for 
reception  in  you.  You  may  not  want  my  penny,  or  you 
may  be  deaf  to  the  sounds  which  I  utter.  In  such  simple 
instances  as  these,  it  is  usually  so  easy  to  ascertain 
whether  what  is  proffered  can  be  received  that  no  thought 
is  expended  upon  it.  But  in  many  cases,  and  especially 
when  the  thing  to  be  given  or  told  is  more  complicated, 
the  question  of  the  capacity  for  reception  of  the  beneficiary 
assumes  great  importance.  To  Crusoe  on  his  island  a 
pennyworth  of  nails  is  a  far  more  acceptable  present  than 
a  five  povmd  note ;  a  baby  of  three  years  will  listen  eagerly 
to  the  tale  of  the  Three  Bears,  but  will  be  totally 
unreceptive  to  a  discourse  on  the  uses  of  adversity. 

Even  with  regard  to  comparatively  simple  pieces  of 
information,  much  confusion  arises  because  the  teller  is 
not  clear  as  to  the  state  of  mind  of  the  enquirer.  Ask  a 
man  in  the  street  the  way,  when  to  get  to  your  destination 
involves  some  amount  of  twisting  and  turning  in  a  district 
with  which  you  are  unfamiliar,  and  you  will  be  fortunate 
if  you  get  clear  directions.  The  majority  of  persons 
talk  glibly   of  landmarks  and  signs  with  which  they  are 


4  THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OF    PSYCHOLOGY. 

perfectly  acquainted,  quite  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  you 
are  completely  in  the  dark.  If  knowledge  of  the  subjects 
to  be  taught  were  the  only  really  important  thing, 
thousands  of  adults  of  the  lower  middle  classes  could  be 
considered  eligible  for  the  teaching  of  our  elementary 
scholars  without  any  training  being  necessary.  As  we 
have  just  seen,  however,  a  full  knowledge  of  the  matter  to 
be  imparted  may  hy  itself  be  rather  a  danger  than  a  help. 
It  may  render  the  imparter  of  information  unable  to 
appreciate,  and  allow  for,  the  ignorance  of  the  enquirer. 

Nor  is  it  merely  a  question  of  realising  the  gaps  in  our 
pupils'  minds,  and  carefully  filling  them  up.  Much  of  the 
knowledge  which  we  acquire  cannot  be  directly  imparted 
as  a  name  or  the  description  of  the  way  to  a  certain  place 
can  be  imparted.  It  is  the  result  of  a  process  of  growth 
taking  place  within  us.  Froebel  was  keenly  aware  of  this 
when  he  compared  the  teacher  to  a  gardener,  the  child  to  a 
plant,  and  the  school  to  a  garden.  A  gardener  cannot 
directly  add  to  the  height  of  a  plant  as  a  bmlder  adds  an 
extra  storey  to  a  house.  The  gardener  plants  his  seedling 
in  a  suitable  place.  He  hoes,  waters,  prunes,  and  manures. 
He  does  not,  however,  do  these  things  indiscriminately. 
From  his  knowledge  of  the  plant,  he  judges  when  and  to 
what  extent  they  are  necessary.  And  when  he  has  done 
all,  he  can  only  hope  for  the  best. 

It  is  not  asserted  that  all  knowledge  arises  in  this  self- 
developing  manner.  It  is  obvious  that  if  I  tell  you  the 
way  to  a  given  place,  I  have  directly  increased  your 
knowledge.  It  is  equally  obvious,  however,  that  I  cannot 
tell  a  child  of  three  years  what  a  summary  is.  He  will 
require  a  long  process  of  development  before  any  woi-ds 
that  I  may  use  will  enable  him  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  the 
meaning.  It  is  related  that  a  gentleman  in  addressing 
a  Sunday  School  once  made  use  of  this  word.  The 
superintendent  hinted  to  him  that  the  children  did  not 
understand  it.  He  accordingly  told  the  children :  "  A 
summary  is  an  abbreviated  synopsis." 

The  process  of  acquiring  knowledge  involves,  then,  a 
great  deal  of  self -activity.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  passive 
reception.     In  modern  times,  when  so  many   oral  lessons 


THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OP    PSYCHOLOGY.  6 

are  given  in  the  elementary  schools,  there  is  a  danger  of 
forgetting  this.  In  former  days,  children  were  left  more 
to  themselves  in  school.  They  were  given  tasks — lessons 
to  prepare,  problems  to  solve,  questions  to  answer — and 
were  merely  examined  on  them.  Not  that  the  teachers  of 
those  days  understood  more  of  psychology  than  those  of 
to-day.  Many  good  methods  have  been  adopted  without 
any  clear  notion  of  the  reasons  for  them.  Even  now,  in 
spite  of  some  progress  in  psychology,  a  large  part  of 
school  practice  is  carried  on  without  a  full  comprehension 
of  the  principles  underlying  it.  We  cannot  afford  to  wait 
till  everything  is  clear  theoretically.  We  must  go  on 
with  our  teaching.  The  children  cannot  stop  till  we  have 
solved  our  difficulties.  We  hope,  however,  to  understand 
more  and  more  the  reasons  for  our  practice  as  we  proceed, 
and,  in  so  far  as  we  do  that,  we  can  improve  our  methods. 

Meanwhile  we  often  fall  into  certain  methods  by  force 
of  circumstances.  The  teachers  of  the  olden  times  were 
few  in  number,  their  scholars  were  numerous  and  varied  in 
attainments ;  further,  there  was  little  idea  of  teaching 
beyond  that  of  seeing  that  something  was  learned.  In 
these  days  the  value  of  teaching  has  become  clearly 
recognised ;  we  have  classes  of  children  who,  though  still 
too  many  in  number,  are  approximately  on  the  same  levels 
of  attainment,  and  there  is  a  tendency  to  overdo  oral 
exposition.  Someone  has  said  that  whereas  formerly  the 
child  learned  his  lesson  and  said  it  to  the  teacher,  now 
the  teacher  learns  his  lesson  and  says  it  to  the  child. 
"  In  short,  many  modern  methods  of  teaching,  in  attempt- 
ing to  make  learning  easy  to  the  child,  give  so  minute  a 
guidance  of  action  that  they  eliminate  all  virility  from  the 
learning  by  banishing  purpose,  effort,  and  originality. 
But  without  the  cultivation  of  these  the  habit  of  expecting 
by  one's  own  efforts  to  reach  better  things  than  those  of 
the  present  cannot  be  formed."  ^ 

Though  much  may  profitably  be  told,  especially  if  the 
right  time  is  taken  for  impai-ting  the  information,  mere 
telling   will   not   take  us   far.     The  fact  is,  as  we  have 

'  Weltoii,  77(e  /'xi/choloy//  of  EduciUioii,  p.  175. 


6  THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OF    PSYCHOLOGY. 

already  hinted,  that  a  great  deal  cannot  by  any  manner  of 
means  be  told.  It  must  develop.  And  it  can  only  be 
developed  from  knowledge  already  obtained  by  the  child 
himself.  I  cannot  really  tell  a  child  what  colour  is.  The 
idea  of  colour  must  develop  in  his  mind  on  the  basis  of  the 
knowledge  he  acquires  of  blue,  red,  green,  and  so  forth.  I 
can  arrange  that  he  sees  objects  of  different  colours,  and 
that  he  thinks  of  them  with  respect  to  their  appearance. 
And  even  if  I  use  the  word  colour,  and  go  on  to  indicate  to 
him  what  I  mean  by  it,  I  am  only  helping  on  a  process 
which  must  take  place  in  his  mind,  and  which  could  not 
take  place  if  he  had  not  seen  different  colours  and 
recognised  them  for  himself.  When  once  he  has  reached 
this  stage,  I  can  make  tise  of  the  knowledge  he  has  already 
acquired  by  himself,  in  telling  him  some  things  which  he 
may  never  be  able  to  discover  for  himself.  For  instance, 
I  can  tell  him  that  the  birds  of  South  America  have 
brighter  and  more  varied  colouring  than  those  of  England. 

A  great  deal  of  what  is  told  co^ild  be  discovei'ed  by 
the  pupil,  if  only  life  were  long  enough.  If,  however, 
nothing  were  told  which  could  be  discovered,  the  child 
would  grow  up  very  ignorant.  Those  who  may  be  con- 
sidei'ed  well  educated  members  of  the  community  have 
attained  this  stage  by  getting  much  knowledge  at  second- 
hand, by  taking  advantage  of  information  acquired  at 
first-hand  by  many  others — ancestors  and  contemporaries. 
It  would  seem,  then,  that  we  have  only  to  distinguish  in 
knowledge  (1)  what  must  be  acquired  independently  by 
the  child,  fx-om  (2)  what  can  be  told  on  the  basis  of  what 
has  been  acquired  at  first  hand,  and  then  to  allow  all  the 
latter  to  be  told. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  very  difficult  to  make  the 
distinction.  To  revert  to  the  instance  which  has  just  been 
mentioned,  the  child  hears  people  speaking  of  the  colour 
of  different  objects.  He  notices  the  various  hues,  and  he 
gets  an  idea  of  colour  in  general.  In  one  sense,  as  we 
have  insisted,  he  may  be  said  to  have  acquired  this  himself. 
But  the  mention  of  the  word  colour  has  been  a  great  help 
in  directing  his  attention,  and  althovigh  nobody  may  have 
definitely  spoken  on  the  subject  to  him,  it  may  be  said 


THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OE    fSYClHOtOGtY.  7 

that  to  a  certain  extent  he  has  been  told.  Practically  all 
our  knowledge  may  be  expressed  in  words,  and  all  these 
words  are  in  one  sense  "  told  "  to  us  by  others,  in  another 
understood  by  us  in  virtue  of  our  own  experience. 

In  view  of  the  difficulty  of  fixing  the  limits  between 
what  must  be  acquired  by  the  individual  independently 
and  what  can  be  told,  it  is  better  to  be  on  the  safe 
side,  and  to  err  in  requiring  more  to  be  discovered  by 
the  individual  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  For  if  we  err 
in  the  other  direction  the  mistake  is  irreparable  :  we  try 
to  tell  the  child  something  which  he  can  only  find  out 
for  himself.  And  unless  he  does  find  out  for  himself 
independently  of  us,  there  is  a  gap  in  his  know- 
ledge ;  he  will  hear  and  perhaps  use  words  which  have 
only  a  shadow  of  meaning  for  him.  This  is  what  Milton 
meant  when  he  wrote  :  "  But  because  our  understanding 
cannot  in  this  body  foimd  it  self  but  on  sensible  things, 
nor  arrive  so  clearly  to  the  knowledge  of  God  and  things 
invisible,  as  by  orderly  conning  over  the  visible  and  inferior 
creature,  the  same  method  is  necessarily  to  be  follow'd  in 
all  discreet  teaching.  .  .  .  And  though  a  Linguist  should 
pride  himself  to  have  all  the  Tongues  that  Babel  cleft  the 
world  into,  yet,  if  he  have  not  studied  the  solid  things  in 
them  as  well  as  the  Words  and  Lexicons,  he  were  nothing 
so  much  to  be  esteemed  a  learned  man,  as  any  Yeoman  or 
Tradesman  competently  wise  in  his  Mother  Dialect  only."  ^ 

But  there  is  a  further  reason  why  children,  especially  in 
the  early  stages  of  their  education,  should  not  be  told  too 
much.  We  have  said  that  the  acquirement  of  all  know- 
ledge involves  self-activity.  There  is  less  activity,  however, 
in  listening  to  the  words  of  others,  even  when  we  attach  to 
them  the  full  meaning  intended,  than  in  finding  out  for 
ourselves.  Further,  the  process  by  which  in  later  life  we 
acquire  much  knowledge  at  second-hand  is  not  one  of  mere 
reception  of  information.  We  go  to  libraries,  dive  into 
books,  and,  in  a  sense,  find  out  for  ourselves.  Some  of  us, 
too,  aspire  to  be  inventors — to  find  out  things  which  nobody 
has  ever  discovered  before.     It  is  obvious,  then,  that  if  we 

'  Milton's  Tractate  on  Education,  edited  by  Browning,  p.  4. 


O  THE    NEED    OP    A    STUDY    OP    PSYCHOLOGY. 

are  to  be  highly  successful  in  acquiring  knowledge,  we 
must  develop  this  self-activity.  It  Avill  not  be  highly  de- 
veloped if  in  the  early  stages  we  are  told  a  great  deal.  We 
shall  be  in  danger  of  sinking  into  a  state  of  comparative 
passivity,  surfeited  with  knowledge  before  we  have  really 
acquired  a  large  amount.  This  state  begets  a  hlase  con- 
dition, in  which  interest  in  things  around  us  wanes,  in  which 
curiosity  dies,  and  pleasure  is  only  taken  in  sensual  indul- 
gence and  in  activities  of  a  low  and  unproductive  descrip- 
tion. On  the  other  hand,  the  active  pi'ocess  whereby  know- 
ledge is  acquired  is  highly  pleasurable.  We  cannot  help 
noticing  this  in  the  healthy  child  who  is  acquiring  a  know- 
ledge of  his  surroundings.  If  we  begin  too  early  to  tell 
the  child  many  things  which  he  can  find  out  for  himseK, 
we  weaken  this  self -activity,  the  pleasure  accompanying  its 
exercise  disappears,  and  all  interest  in  the  acquirement  of 
knowledge  is  killed. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  show  that,  even  if  the  teacher 
did  not  aspire  to  be  an  educator,  but  were  content  with  the 
more  limited  role  of  instructor,  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
subjects  to  be  taught  would  not  be  sufficient.  The  teacher 
must  not  only  be  acquainted  with  his  subject,  but  he  must 
Tinow  his  inqnl.  He  must  know  when  and  how  much  to 
tell,  when  and  how  far  he  must  make  arrangements  for 
the  pupil  to  find  out  for  himself.  And  he  can  do  this  only 
in  the  light  of  a  knowledge  of  child  nature  and  its  de- 
velopment. The  practical  teacher  is,  further,  aware  that 
all  children  are  not  alike.  The  deaf,  dumb,  and  otherwise 
mentally  defective  are  in  these  days  often  gathered  together 
in  special  schools,  where  the  instruction  is  adapted  to  their 
condition.  But  even  the  so-called  normal  children  who 
attend  the  ordinary  schools  present  great  differences. 
Some  of  them  are  slightly  deaf,  and  hear  less  than  others. 
Some  are  short-sighted,  and  see  less  than  others.  Even  the 
dullest  instructor  is  aware  of  such  obvious  differences,  and, 
let  us  hope,  does  his  best  to  cope  with  them.  But  we  must 
realise  more  and  more  that  those  whom  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  "  average  "  children  possess,  in  addition  to  many 
common  qualities,  a  vast  number  of  peculiarities.  The 
amount  of  knowledge  they  bring  with  them  into  the  class- 


THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OP    PSYCHOLOGY.  9 

room,  tlieir  likes  aud  dislikes,  tkeir  powers  of  attention,  of 
perseverance,  of  self-control,  vary  tremendously.  And  the 
good  teacher  will,  as  far  as  he  can,  take  account  of  all 
these  differences.  How  often  do  we  hear  a  teacher 
complain  of  the  stupidity  of  the  children  who  fail  to  under- 
stand him !  How  seldom  do  we  hear  a  teacher  refer  to 
his  own  stupidity  in  failing  to  understand  the  children ! 

So  far  we  have  confined  oiu'selves  to  instruction.  But 
the  moment  we  consider  the  wider  field  of  which  instruc- 
tion is  only  a  part — the  field  of  education — the  need  of  a 
knowledge  of  child  nature  becomes  even  more  important. 
Because  a  large  part  of  the  instruction  which  a  child 
receives  is  obtained  at  school,  there  has  always  been  a 
tendency  to  consider  the  school  as  essentially  a  centre  for 
instruction.  Teachers  themselves,  in  spite  of  the  cry  of 
the  great  educationists  that  character  is  the  main  object, 
have  always  tended  to  fall  into  this  error.  The  boys  who 
have  imbibed  the  most  information,  who  get  top  at  the 
examinations,  are  usually  looked  upon  by  the  master  as  the 
best  proof  of  his  efiiciency  as  a  teacher.  And  this  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  tests  of  after  life  often  make  a  totally 
different  classification. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  we  wisli  to  belittle  know- 
ledge. Indeed,  the  good  character  or  moral  perfection  to 
which  reference  has  just  been  made  cannot  be  attained 
without  knowledge.  A  few  philosophers,  such  as  Socrates 
in  olden  times  and  Herbart  (to  some  extent)  in  these  days, 
have  even  gone  to  the  point  of  maintaining  that  morality 
is  an  affair  of  knowledge,  and  that  the  bad  man  errs 
because  he  is  ignorant.  Without  going  to  these  lengths, 
we  may  agree  that  often — 

' '  Evil  is  wrought  by  want  of  thought. 
As  well  as  want  of  heart. " 

One  reason  why  the  so-called  "  practical  "  teacher  is  apt 
to  sneer,  at  any  rate  in  private,  at  the  mention  of  such 
things  as  "  moral  conduct  "  or  "  behaviour  "  as  the  chief 
ends  of  education  is  that  he  interprets  these  words  in  a 
narrow  sense.  He  thinks  of  them  as  covering  only  a  small 
portion  of  our  activities.     But  "  behaviour  "  in  the  widest 


10  THE   NEED    OF   A   STUDY    OF    PSYCHOLOaT, 

sense  includes  the  whole  conduct  of  life.  In  the  case  of 
the  teacher,  for  instance,  it  includes  the  way  in  which 
lessons  ai-e  given,  how  difficult  boys  are  dealt  with, 
how  leisure  is  occiipied.  In  the  case  of  the  commercial 
man  it  includes  the  way  in  which  he  conducts  his 
business  as  well  as  the  manner  in  which  he  brings  up 
his  children  and  prepares  them  to  take  their  parts  in 
life.  With  this  wider  view,  it  is  obvious  not  only  that 
much  knowledge  is  necessary  for  good  behaviour,  but  that 
the  latter  is  the  end,  the  former  only  one  of  the  means. 
Knowledge,  however,  does  not  lose  by  this  subordination. 
It  rather  gains  in  importance.  And  the  familiar  maxim, 
"  Knowledge  is  power,"  attains  a  new  significance.  At 
the  same  time  it  must  be  remembered  that  knowledge  is 
power  only  when  it  can  be  applied,  only  when  it  enables  a 
man  to  grapj^le  successfully  with  his  environment.  A 
knowledge  of  heraldry  is  of  no  use  to  a  rat-catcher,  though 
an  acquaintance  with  the  habits  of  rats  certainly  is. 

The  information  which  the  teacher  imparts  to  the  pupil 
is  considered  necessary  for  his  education  ;  it  is  deemed  to 
be  part  of  "  that  which  fits  a  man  to  perform  justly,  skil- 
fidly  and  magnanimously,  all  the  offices  both  private  and 
publick  of  Peace  and  War."  '  But  it  is  only  a  part.  How 
great  is  the  number  of  men  who  are  forced  to  admit :  video 
meliora  proboque,  deteriora  sequor ! "  Some  scoundrels 
have  been  men  of  learning,  men  to  whom  knowledge  was 
power.  But  unfortunately  their  power  was  turned  to  bad 
ends.  While,  therefore,  knowledge  is  a  necessary  con- 
stituent of  the  good  character,  much  more  is  required. 
Good  habits  and  tendencies  must  have  been  harmoniously 
developed  so  that  the  individual  not  only  knows  the  right 
course,  but  chooses  it.  Now  the  child  comes  to  us  with 
certain  tendencies  and  habits  already  more  or  less  strongly 
developed.  If  we  are  to  suppress  the  undesirable  ones,  to 
develop  still  further  the  good  ones,  and  to  originate  others, 
we  must  know  as  much  as  can  be  learned  of  the  laws 
according  to  which  these  tendencies  and  habits  grow.     In 

^  Milton's  Tractate,  p.  8. 

*  "I  see  the  beltei-  things  and  approve  of  them,  yet  I  follow 
the  worse." 


THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OP    PSYCHOLOGY.  11 

this  field,  once  again,  there  ai'e  great  differences  among 
children — many  of  them  innate,  some  due  to  home  educa- 
tion. And  the  teacher  who  wishes  to  be  an  efficient 
educator  must  not  only  be  acquainted  with  the  general 
laws  of  child  nature,  so  far  as  they  are  known,  but  must 
make  as  careful  a  study  as  circumstances  permit  of  the 
individual  peculiarities  of  each  pupil.  "  Commencez  done 
par  mieux  etudier  vos  eleves  ;  car  tres  assurement  vous  ne 
les  connaissez  point." ' 

Rousseau  was  one  of  the  first  educationists  to  empha- 
sise the  need  of  studying  our  children.  Since  his  time 
there  has  grown  up  a  special  branch  of  investigation  which 
is  usually  known  as  child  study.  It  concerns  itself  with 
child  nature  in  all  its  aspects — with  the  child's  body  as 
well  as  with  his  mind.  The  mental  characteristics  of  the 
children  are  of  more  importance  to  the  teacher  than  the 
physical  (though,  as  we  shall  see,  they  cannot  be  con- 
sidered entirely  apart  from  the  latter).  Child  study, 
therefore,  to  the  teacher  is,  before  everything  else,  a  study 
of  the  child  mind.  All  good  teachers,  from  time  im- 
memorial, have  attacked  this  subject  in  more  or  less 
determined  fashion.  The  intelligent  and  enthusiastic 
teacher  who  is  in  the  company  of  children  during  five  or 
six  hours  each  day  cannot  fail  to  find  out  a  good  deal 
about  them,  both  in  the  way  of  general  truths  and  with 
respect  to  individual  differences.  Many  teachers  are  said 
to  have  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  child  nature.  What 
is  meant  is  that  they  have  developed  so  much  sympathy 
with  their  children  that  they  come  to  see  and  feel  from  the 
point  of  view  of  their  pupils,  and  know  just  how  things 
affect  them.  This  empirical  knowledge  is  by  no  means  to 
be  despised.  All  teachers  might  well  join  in  the  prayer  of 
the  poet : — 

"  Backward,  turn  backward,  0  Time  in  your  flight, 
Make  me  a  child  again  just  for  to-night." 

Many  teachers  who  have  never  studied  psychology  as 
a  science  are  so  successful  in  applying  the  more  or  less 

*  "  Begin  therefore  by  studying  your  pupils  more  carefully,  for 
most  certainly  you  do  not  know  them  at  all." — (Konsseau.) 


12  THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OF    PSYCHOLOGY. 

unscientific  knowledge  which,  they  have  acquired,  and 
which  perhaps  they  could  not  formulate,  that  they  can 
aiford  to  mock  at  those  who  have  armed  themselves  with 
a  few  scientific  principles,  but  who  have  failed  to  take  a 
real  interest  in  children.  The  ideal  teacher,  however,  is  he 
who  has  studied  all  that  is  known  about  the  child  mind 
and  who  possesses  also  a  real  interest  in  children  and  their 
ways  ;  who  not  only  knows  the  general  principles  which 
have  been  discovered,  but  has  verified  them  in  actual  ex- 
perience, in  the  course  of  which  he  has  also  become  aware 
of  the  individual  differences  and  peculiarities  of  the 
children. 

This  book  cannot  deal  with  all  the  differences  and 
peculiarities  which  are  to  be  found  in  children.  The 
teacher  must  study  these  for  himself  by  taking  an  interest 
in  his  pupils  individually,  and  noting  their  differing 
responses  to  his  treatment.  We  can  here  attempt  only 
the  task  of  setting  forth  the  general  principles  according 
to  which  all  minds  work. 

Now  the  warnings  we  have  given  with  respect  to 
trying  to  tell  something  in  words  which  represent  no 
first-hand  experience  in  the  child  apply  also  to  the 
student  who  reads  books  on  psychology  or  on  child  study 
without  any  first-hand  knowledge.  The  words  may  be 
remembered  and  a  dim  notion  of  what  is  implied  by  them 
may  be  obtained  ;  but  unless  one  has  observed  freely  for 
himself,  the  full  signification  will  not  be  appreciated. 
Now  in  observing  children  we  only  see  their  bodies  and 
hear  the  sounds  which  they  make ;  we  do  not  see  what 
is  passing  in  their  minds.  We  infer  what  is  passing  in 
their  minds  from  the  changes  which  take  place  in  their 
bodies,  and  from  what  we  hear  them  say.  We  can  do  this 
only  if  tve  have  had  similar  changes  in  our  own  bodies, 
accompanied  by  similar  mental  states.  Thus,  if  I  see 
a  child's  mouth  relaxing  into  a  smile  and  his  eyes  shining 
brightly,  I  infer  that  he  is  pleased.  I  can  do  this  because 
I  have  been  pleased  and  have  made  similar  movements.  It 
is  obvious,  then,  that  we  start  from  self-knowledge. 

We  all  acquire  some  of  this  knowledge.  But  few  of  us 
pursue  the  study  scientifically.     When  it  is  so  pursued. 


THE    NEED    OF    A    STUDY    OF    PSYCHOLOGY.  13 

it  is  teclmically  kuo^vn  cas  introspective  psi/chology.  A  child 
has  sufficient  self-knowledge  to  infer  that  his  companions 
are  pleased,  pained,  or  indifferent.  But  he  is  not  naturally 
given  to  looking  within.  Introspection  of  a  serious  kind 
is  only  possible  to  adults,  and,  even  among  them,  only  to 
the  more  intelligent.  If,  then,  we  are  to  make  any  effective 
study  of  psychology,  we  must  begin  with  ourselves.  And 
we  begin  with  ourselves  as  we  are  noiv.  We  can,  it  is  true, 
get  some  knowledge  of  ourselves  as  children.  If  we  are 
not  very  old,  and  have  good  memories,  we  can  recall  some 
events  of  our  past  life  with  considerable  vividness  and 
correctness.  If  we  can  recover  some  of  the  childish  letters 
we  wrote,  if  we  can  get  our  fathers  and  mothers,  our  aunts 
and  uncles,  to  describe  us  as  we  w^ere,  we  may  obtain  some 
conception  of  how  we  thought  and  acted  as  children.  But 
much  is  irrevocably  gone.  Since  we  could  not  introspect 
thoroughly  then,  we  certainly  cannot  recover  any  important 
results  of  introspection  now. 

Even,  therefore,  in  the  task  of  understanding  our  past 
selves,  we  are  driven  back  in  large  measure  to  an  inter- 
pretation in  which  our  present  selves  must  serve  as  the 
basis.  This  is  usually  summed  up  by  saying  that  child 
study  on  its  mental  side  can  be  seriously  undertaken  only 
after  a  course  in  introspective  (adult)  psychology.  Another 
name  for  this  latter  subject  is  analytic  psycliology.  It  is 
so  called  because  in  introspection  we  attempt  to  analyse 
the  contents  of  our  minds.  Child  study,  in  so  far  as  it 
deals  with  the  minds  of  the  children,  sets  out  not  merely 
to  discover  the  contents  of  a  child's  mind  at  any  given 
moment,  but  to  trace  the  process  of  development  to  the 
adult  stage.  It  attempts  to  frame  a  history  of  the  growth 
of  mind  from  birth  to  maturity.  This  branch  of  child 
study  is  therefore  often  referred  to  as  genetic  psychology. 

Though  we  must  start  with  analytic  psychology,  it  is  not 
to  be  supposed  that  our  genetic  psychology  is  entirely 
based  upon  our  introspection.  One  of  the  greatest 
mistakes  that  could  be  made  would  be  to  consider  children 
as  adults  on  a  small  scale.  They  are  widely  different. 
Children  probably  do  not  think  and  feel  exactly  like 
adults,    even    when    they    give     vent     to    very    similar 


14       THE  NEED  OF  A  STUDY  OF  PSYCHOLOGY. 

expressions  and  perform  almost  identical  acts.  But  if 
we  are  to  understand  tliem  fat  all,  we  must  begin  with 
some  knowledge  of  mental  phenomena,  and  we  can  only 
get  this  by  looking  within.  When  we  have  this  pre- 
liminary knowledge,  we  must  use  it  with  caution.  The 
mental  states  of  the  child  are  probably  like  ours,  but 
much  more  simple.  In  trying  to  infer  what  is  passing 
in  their  minds,  we  may  well  remember  a  caution 
enunciated  by  Lloyd  Morgan  as  a  principle  to  be  observed 
in  studying  animal  intelligence — never  to  suppose  a  more 
complicated  mental  state  than  is  necessary  to  account  for 
the  actions  observed. 


Questions  on  Chaptkr  I. 

1.  What  do  you  understand  by  education  and  instruction,  and  what 
are  the  relations  between  them  ? 

2.  Has  a  teacher  any  right  to  complain  that  a  child  is  stupid  ? 
Give  full  reasons  for  your  answer. 

3.  How  is  it  that  some  teachers  are  very  successful  without  a 
knowledge  of  scientific  psychology  ? 

4.  How  could  you  prove  that  children  do  not  think  and  feel  exactly 
like  adults  ? 

5.  What  grounds  can  you  advance  in  support  of  the  assertion 
that  children  think  and  feel  in  a  manner  similar  to  your  own  ? 

6.  Distinguish  between  analytic  and  genetic  psychology.     How 

far  is  the  latter  dependent  on  the  former  ? 

7.  Why  is  it  not  advisable,  even  when  possible,  to  give  full 
replies  to  all  children's  questions  ? 

8.  Mention  some  dangers  attendant  upon  instruction  which  is 
carried  on  only  by  oral  lessons. 

9.  What  was  the  advantage  of  the  method  of  setting  individual 
tasks  without  any  oral  lessons,  as  pursued  in  the  old  grammar 
schools  ?     What  were  the  disadvantages  ? 

10.  Give  examples  of  things  that  can  be  told  to  a  boy  of  eight, 
and  of  others  that  cannot. 


CHAPTER   II. 


Mind  and  Body. 

Psychology  is  the  study  of  mental  phenomena.  But 
the  mind  is  so  intimately  connected  with  the  body  that 
we  cannot  afford  to  neglect  entirely  some  consideration  of 
the  latter,  even  when  our  chief  interest  is  in  the  former. 
Of  the  exact  nature  of  this  connection  between  mind  and 
body  we  can  say  nothing  with  certainty,  except  that  it  is 
an  extremely  close  one.  So  close  is  it  that  even  the  most 
philosophical  are  often  betrayed  into  language  which 
substitutes  the  physical  for  the  mental.  The  word  brain 
is  often  used  for  intelligence,  as,  for  instance,  when  we 
say  that  a  person  has  "  plenty  of  brains."  But  the 
thoughts  which  take  place  in  the  person's  mind,  and  which 
constitute  his  intelligence,  are  not  material  things.  True, 
they  could  not,  as  far  as  we  know,  take  place  without  the 
brain.  In  order  that  they  may  occur  it  is  necessary  that 
the  brain  should  be  in  a  certain  state  of  activity.  But 
they  are  not  to  be  identiiied  with  the  brain.  All  we  can 
say  is  that  every  mental  state  implies  a  corresponding 
brain  state.  For  a  mental  state  to  occiir,  the  brain  must 
be  more  or  less  suffused  with  blood,  and  certain  changes 
must  be  taking  place  in  the  nervous  tissue  of  which  it  is 
composed.  Conversely,  we  can  probably  say  that,  given  a 
certain  state  of  the  brain,  in  which  blood  is  circulating  in 
it,  or  at  any  rate  in  a  part  of  it,  and  in  which  certain 
specific  changes  (of  which  we  shall  say  more  later)  are 
taking  place  in  the  nervous  tissue,  a  mental  state  arises. 
Not  that  there  is  a  mental  state  corresponding  to  every 
brain  state.     In  deep  sleep,  when  little  blood  circulates  in 

15 


16  MIND    AND    BODY. 

the  head,  and  when  the  nervous  changes  which  take  place 
in  the  brain  are  different  from  those  occurring  during  the 
time  when  we  are  awake,  any  mental  states  which  may 
occur  are  so  slight  that  they  are  imperceptible. 

We  shall  presently  go  on  to  describe  the  brain.  But, 
even  before  this  is  done,  the  reader  is  quite  clear  as  to  the 
general  nature  of  this  most  important  part  of  the  body. 
Merely  to  know  that  it  is  a  whitish  substance  in  the  head 
will  sufl&ce  for  the  moment. 

But  one  may  well  ask :  What  is  this  mind,  with  which 
the  brain  is  said  to  be  connected,  and  what  are  those  mental 
states  which  arise  when  certain  brain-changes  take  place  ? 
In  answer  to  this  question  we  can  only  refer  the  reader  to 
his  own  consciousness.  If  he  is  to  know  any  mind  at  first 
hand,  it  must  be  his  own.  By  viind  we  mean  what  is 
sometimes  referred  to  as  the  soul,  the  spirit,  the  ego,  the 
self.  These  terms  are  sometimes  used  with  differing  mean- 
ings, but  they  all  refer  with  more  or  less  definiteness  to 
the  subject,  which  in  the  case  of  each  of  us  passes  through, 
or  possesses,  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  those  different 
phases  which  are  termed  perceptions,  thoughts,  feelings, 
desires,  wishes,  emotions,  and  so  forth.  It  is  these  phases 
which  are  summed  up  under  the  t«rms  mental  states,  mental 
phenomena,  or  mental  ptrocesses}  These  can  only  be  directly 
experienced  by  the  subject  whose  phases  they  are.  Each  of 
us  is  quite  certain  of  having  such  mental  states.  They 
are,  as  we  have  ali-eady  said,  not  material  things.  They 
have,  for  instance,  no  weight.  Indeed,  it  seems  absurd  to 
think  of  them  in  such  a  way.  And  it  seems  equally  absurd 
to  think  of  the  mind  of  which  they  are  the  phases  or  experi- 
ences as  capable  of  possessing  such  material  attributes. 

We  have,  then,  a  sufficient  idea  of  what  is  meant  by 
a  mental  state.  But  althoi;gli  we  talk  glibly  about  the 
mind  of  which  mental  states  are  phases,  we  find  ourselves 
at  a  loss  when  asked  to  form  a  clear-cut  conception  of  it. 
Every  man  feels  certain  that  he  has,  or  better  still  that  he 
is,  a  mind  or  ego.  But  when  asked  to  state  exactly  what 
he  means  by  these  terms,  he  is  perplexed,  and  can  only  reply 

1  The  word  psychical  is  often  used  instead  of  mental. 


MIIfD   AND   fiODY.  l7 

by  otliei*  terms  wliich  make  the  thing  to  be  defined  no  clearer. 
He  may  perhaps  say  "  myself,"  "  I,"  or  "  I  myself." 
But  however  positive  he  may  feel  that  this  is  what  he  is 
most  certain  of,  he  can  make  the  thing  no  clearer,  even 
to  himself.  Hume,  one  of  the  greatest  of  English  philo- 
sophers, came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  mind  is  nothing 
beyond  the  thoughts,  feelings,  desires,  and  so  foi'th,  which 
we  have  been  referring  to  as  its  states,  or  manifestations. 

"  Tor  my  part,"  he  writes,  "  when  I  enter  most  intimately 
into  what  I  call  myself,  I  always  stumble  on  some  particu- 
lar perception  or  other  of  heat  or  cold,  light  or  shade, 
love  or  hatred,  pain  or  pleasure.  I  never  catch  myself  at 
any  time  without  a  perception,  and  never  can  observe 
anything  but  the  perception.  When  my  perceptions  are 
removed  for  any  time,  as  by  sound  sleep,  so  long  am  I 
insensible  of  myself,  and  may  truly  be  said  not  to  exist. 
And  were  all  my  perceptions  I'emoved  by  death,  and  could 
I  neither  think,  nor  feel,  nor  see,  nor  love,  nor  hate  after 
the  dissolution  of  my  body,  I  should  be  entirely  annihilated, 
nor  do  I  conceive  what  is  farther  requisite  to  make  me  a 
perfect  non-entity.  If  anyone,  upon  serious  and  unpre- 
judiced reflection,  thinks  he  has  a  different  notion  of  him- 
self, I  must  confess  I  can  reason  no  longer  with  him.  All 
I  can  allow  him  is,  that  he  may  be  in  the  right  as  well  as 
I,  and  that  we  are  essentially  different  in  this  particular. 
He  may,  perhaps,  perceive  something  simple  and  con- 
tinued which  he  calls  himself ;  thoiigh  I  am  certain  there 
is  no  such  principle  in  me. 

"  But  setting  aside  some  metaphysicians  of  this  kind,  I 
may  venture  to  affirm  of  the  rest  of  mankind  that  they  are 
nothing  but  a  bundle  or  collection  of  different  perceptions, 
which  succeed  each  other  with  an  inconceivable  rapidity, 
and  are  in  a  perpetual  flux  and  movement."^ 

In  spite  of  this,  each  of  us  continues  to  talk  of  his 
mind  as  something  over  and  above  the  thoughts,  feelings, 
and  desires,  which  come  and  go. 

The  problem  as  to  what  the  mind  or  ego  really  is  can  be 
left  to  the  philosophers  or  metaphysicians.     To  the  end  of 

^  Hume,  Treatise  on  Human  Nature,  Chapter  on  Person.il  Identity. 
FUND.  PSY.  2 


18 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


0>^ 


time  tliey  will  probably  continue  to  discuss  it.  Although 
psychology  is  often  referred  to  as  the  science  of  mind,  it 
does  not  concern  itself  with  such  speculations  as  those  just 
indicated.  It  is  the  science  of  conscious  states  or  jyrocesses. 
Of  these,  as  we  have  already  noted,  we  all  have  a  sufficient 
idea.  Psychology  aspires  to  distinguish  these  various 
mental  processes  (or  psychoses,  as  they  are  often  termed) 
and  to  classify  them.  It  then  goes  on  to  trace  the  way  in 
which  they  develop,  and  the  connections  which  either  exist 
from  the  first  or  which  are  later  foiiaed  between  them. 

As  we  have  said,  these  mental  states  are  always  accom- 
panied by  certain  brain -changes.  If  we  wish,  therefore,  to 
learn  as  much  as  possible  of  the  way  in  which  they  develop, 
we  must  know  something  of  the  brain,  its  structure,  and 
functions. 

The  brain  is  a  mass  of  nerve  tissue  situated  in,  and  pro- 
tected by,  the  skull.  It  may  roughly  be  divided  into  two 
parts — (1)  the  cerehnim,  forming  the  larger  and  upper 
'part,  and  (2)  a  group  of  inferior  organs  consisting  of  the 
cerebellum,  or  little  brain,  (below  and  behind  the  cerebrum,) 
a  number  of  smaller  masses  known  as  hasal  ganglia  (also 
below  the  cerebrum,  but  further  forwai-d),  and  the  medulla 
oblongata,  a  rounded  prolongation  leading  downwards  from 
cerebimni  and  cerebellum,  and  continued  below  as  the 
spinal  cord,  which  last,  however,  is  not  usually  included  as 
part  of  the  brain. 

The  cerebi-um  is  divided  vertically  from  front  to  back 
into  two  halves  or  cerebral  hemispheres.  These  are  joined 
at  the  base  by  a  flattened  sheet  of  nervous  tissue  called  the 
corpus  callosum.  The  surface  of  each  hemisphere  pi'esents 
numerous  folds  or  convolutions.  The  whole  cerebrum  is, 
therefore,  very  similar  in  appearance  to  the  kernel  of  a 
walnut.  The  clefts  or  fissures  which  separate  these  con- 
volutions are  called  sulci.  Two  of  these  clefts  are  deeper 
and  longer  than  the  others ;  one  proceeds  from  the  top 
downwards  and  forwards  and  is  known  as  the  fissure  of 
Rolando,  the  other  proceeds  from  the  bottom,  upwards  and 
backwards,  and  is  known  as  the  fissure  of  Sylvius.  These 
great  clefts  divide  each  hemisphere  up  into  four  somewhat 
clearly  mai-ked  sect-ipns.     The  front  portion  is  called  the 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


19 


frontal  lobe,  the  middle  portiou  tlie  parietal  lohe,  tlie  extreme 
back  portiou  the  occipital  lohe,  while  that  part  of  the  back 
portion  which  is  further  to  the  front   (and  side),  immedi-   , 
ately  below  and  behind  the  fissure  of  Sylvius,  is  known  'y 
0.8  the  temporal  lohe.  ,,_iy^''k.L  / 

The  cerebellum  is  divided  into  two  cerebellar  hemi- 
spheres. Its  surface  presents  many  narrow  convolutions 
which  are  roughly  horizontal  in  direction. 

The  medulla  oblongata,  which  is  almost  vertical,  is  also 
^divided  almost  in  two.     There  are  two  longitudinal  clefts, 
one   in   the   front   and   one  behind.     The  spinal  cord  is 
similarly  divided. 


FISSURE    OF    ROLANDO 
FRONTAL    LOE 


CEREBRAL    HEMISPHERE 

(SIDE    VIEW) 
PARIETAL    LOBE 


OCCIPITAL    LOBE 


FISSURE    OF 
SYLVIU 
TEMPORAL    LOBE       \V^^^V-CEREBELLUM 


INAL    CORD 
Fig.  1. — The  Human  Brain.— Rough  Sketch  to  show  Parts.       ,        ,  l^ 

The  smaller  basal  ganglia  are  too  complicated  for 
detailed  description  in  an  elementary  book.  Some  indica- 
tion of  them  is  shown  in  the  accompanying  sketch  of  the 
brain  seen  from  below  (Fig.  3). 

Examination  of  a  section  of  the  brain  shows  that  it  is 
composed  of  both  white  and  grey  matter.  In  the  cerebrum 
the  grey  matter  forms  an  outer  layer,  and  is  called  the  cor- 
tex, or  cortex  cerebri  (Fig.  4).  In  the  cerebellum  the  grey 
matter  is  also  outside,  but  extends  further  inwards ;  the 
white  matter  in  section  presents  a  peculiar  tree-like 
appearance.  In  the  medulla  oblongata,  and  also  in  the 
spinal  cord,  which  is  its  prolongation,  the  grey  matter  is 
in  the  interior  (Fig.  6).  Microscopic  examination  of 
nervous  tissue  reveals  the  fact  that  the  grey  matter 
consists  of  nerve-cells  or  neurones,  while  the  white  matter 
consists  of  very  thin  nerve-fibres.      But  the  two  are  not 


20 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


2. — The  Human  Brain. 


Tlie  upper  one  represents  the  view  from  the  top  ;  the  lower  from  the  left  side. 
A  is  placed  in  the  great  longitudinal  fissure  which  separates  B  and  C,  the  two 
cerebral  hemispheres. 

D,  the  cerebellum.  E,  frontal  lobe.  F,  parietal  lobe. 

G,  occipital  lobe.  H,  temporal  lobe.  /,  cerebellum. 

K,  medulla  oblongata,  passing  into  the  spinal  cord. 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


21 


distinct.     Each  nerve-fibre  is  really  part  of  a  nerve-cell, 
being  a  prolongation  of  it.     Each  nerve-cell  usually  has 


FRONTAL    LOBES 


OPTIC    CHIASMA 


PONS    VAROLII 


MEDULLA 


CEREBELLUM 


Fig.   3. — The  Brain  from  below  (Cord  and  many  Issuing  Nerves 

ARE   SEEN   cut). 

several  prolongations.  One  of  these  prolongations  is 
sometimes  very  long,  and  is  known  as  the  axon.  Many  of 
the  axons  proceed  to  different  parts  of  the  body,  and  some 

GREY  MATTER  OF  CEREBRAL  CORTEX 


VENTRICLES 

OF  BRAIN 


WHITE    MATTER 


MEDULLA 

Fig.  4. — Section  through  the  Cerebral  nEMisriiERKs. 

are  very  long  indeed.     Those,  for  instance,  which  run  from 
the  spinal  cord  to  the  toes  are  several  feet  in  length. 

A  large   number   of  axons   running   in   one  direction, 
ultimately  to  be  separated  and  to  be  distributed  over  a 


22  MIND    AND    BODY. 

certain  area,  are  bound  together  and  can  be  seen  by  the 
naked  eye  as  a  white  string  or  cord.  This  is  called  a 
nerve.  Some  axons  give  off  a  number  of  branches  which 
connect  one  neurone  with  another,  though  there  does  not 
seem  to  be  absolute  continuity  of  nervous  tissue  at  such 
points.     These  branchings  are  often  called  arhorisations, 

ANTERIOR    FISSURE 
ANTERIOR    HORN    OF     I         WHITE    MATTER 
GREY    MATTER '•^j,^Cr~]/~^5>v/' 

I    %^<-T=i2— +CENTRAL    CANAL 
POSTERIOR  I       1/^rSl)  OF    CORD 

HORN    OF     — — ^C__i\-/ 
GREY    MATTER  I 

POSTERIOR    FISSURE 

Fig.  5. — Transversk  Section  of  the  Spinal  Cord. 

and  the  junctions  between  neurones  Avhich  are  formed  by 
them  are  known  as  synapses.  Similar  arborisations  occur 
at  the  ends  of  those  axons  which  reach  distant  portions  of 
the  body,  the  terminal  fibres  dividing  into  a  fine  network, 
and  passing,  for  instance,  into  a  muscle,  or  ramifying  in 
some  characteristic  fashion  among  the  cells  of  the  skin, 

rJERVOUS    PROCESSES - 


ARBORISATIONS 
NERVE-CELL 

Fig.  6. — Nerve-Cells  or  Neurones. 

either  of  the  external  parts  of  the  body  or  of  the  internal 
organs.  The  shorter  processes  of  the  neurones  divide  up 
into  many  very  fine  branches.  They  probably  also  connect 
cell  with  cell. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  out  in  detail  the  multitudinous 
ramifications  of  the  nerve-cells  and  fibres.  It  is  necessary, 
however,  to  have  some  slight  idea  of  the  way  in  which  the 
nervous  system  acts.  Every  part  of  each  neurone  is 
"  irritable,"   i.e.  "is    capable    of   responding — probably   by 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


23 


CEMENT 


PULP-CAVITY 


EONE    OF    JAW 


NERVE 
Fig.  7. — Section  of  Tooth  to  show  Nerve. 


a  chemical  change — to  some  form  of  external  energy 
called  a  sthmdus.  The  change  thus  produced  initiates 
a  nervous  imindse  or  excitation.  Of  the  natui'e  of  this 
impulse  little  is  known.  Some  have  thought  it  is  a 
purely  physical  change 
like  the  conduction  of 
electricity  in  a  wii'e, 
though  its  rate  of  trans- 
mission is  much  slower 
than  that  of  electricity. 
It  is  possible,  however, 
that  chemical  changes 
are  involved.  Probably 
the  passage  of  the  ner- 
vous impulse  is  like  the 
series  of  combustions 
which  take  place  along  the  track  of  a  fuse  of  gunpowder. 
The  process  of  excitation  liberates  energy  which  was 
stored  up  in  the  cell.  This  liberated  energy  is  trans- 
mitted to  other  cells.  These  may  be  either  other 
neurones  of  the  nervous  system  or  the  contractile  cells 
constituting  a  muscle.  In  the  former  case,  the  energy 
may  be  transmitted  from  neurone  to  neurone  and,  if  it  fails 
to  I'each  one  which  is  connected  by  its  axon  with  a  muscle- 
fibre,  it  will  gradually  expend  itself  in  producing  changes 
in  the  condition  of  the  nervous  tissue.     In  the  latter  case, 

however,  some   form 
EPITHELIUM  OF    ^^g-^^  g^DS  of  muscular  activity 

■^Q^G^^  /\  will  be  produced.  The 

muscles  are  the  or- 
gans of  the  body 
which,  by  their  con- 
traction, produce 
movement.  They  can 
only  do  this  when 
excited  to  activity  by 
the  nervous  impulses  reaching  the  muscular  cells  (or  mus- 
cular jihres,  as  tln^y  are  often  called)  along  the  axons.  A 
bundle  of  such  axons  leading  to  a  mus(;le  is  called  a  motor 
nerve.     All  muscles  are  supplied  with  motor  nerves. 


MUSCLE 

NERVES 


TASTE-BUD3 


Pig.  8.— Section  of  small  portion  of  Tongue 

(HIOHLY   magnified). 


24 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


We  Lave  up  to  the  present  supposed  a  nervous  impulse 
to  be  already  in  existence,  and  we  have  noted  how 
it  will  find  its  way  from  neurone  to  neurone,  and  in  many 
cases  pass  out  of  the  nervous  system  to  a  muscle.    We  have 


DAMPING    MEMBRANE 


BRANCH 
AUDITORY    NERVE 


OUTER  WALL 
OF  CANAL  OF 
COCHLEA 


BASEMENT 
MEMBRANE 


Fig.  9.— Section  of  part  of  the  Inner  Ear  (highly  magnified    to 
SHOW  Nerve  Ending. 


not  yet  explained  how  nervous  impulses  usually  come  into 
existence  within  the  nervous  system.  Nor  have  we  shown 
why  they  do  not  spread  in  any  direction,  reaching,  for 
example,  the  pulp  of  a  tooth,  or  the  cells  of  the  skin  in 


Fig.  10. — Nerve  Endings  in  Muscular  Fibres  (vert  highly 

MAGNIFIED  ;   DIAGRAMMATIC). 


some  other  external  or  internal  part  of  the  body.  For 
there  are  axons  or  nerve-fibres  proceeding  not  only  to 
muscles,  but  to  all  those  surfaces,  whether  internal  or 
external,  which  may  be  called  "  skin,"     The  word  "  skin  " 


MIND    AND    BODY.  25 

is  here  used  in  a  very  wide  sense.  The  teeth,  the  eye  and 
the  ear,  for  instance,  must  be  considered  as  peculiar 
modifications  of  the  skin.  It  is  believed  that  they  are 
organs  which  have  gradually  been  developed,  in  the  coiu'se 
of  long  ages  of  evolution,  from  one  simple  covering  of  the 
body. 

It  is  in  the  "  skin  "  that  normal  excitations  take  their 
rise.  The  simplest  case  is  that  in  which  something  touches 
the  external  skin.  It  cannot  directly  touch  the  nerve  end- 
ings ;  for  these  do  not  reacli  to  the  surface.  But  it  affects 
the  ordinary  cells  of  the  skin,  and  these  in  turn  produce 
an  excitation  in  the  nerve-fibres  adjacent  to  them.  This 
excitation  or  impulse  can  only  proceed  along  the  nerve  in 
one  direction ;  for  at  this  point,  since  we  are  at  the  end  of 
a  nerve-fibre,  it  is  only  inwards,  towards  the  cell  body 
(which  may  be  at  a  great  distance),  that  the  excitation  can 
proceed.  A  bundle  of  nerve-fibres  proceeding  from  the 
"  skin  "  of  any  portion  of  the  body,  and  capable  of  carry- 
ing excitations  inwards,  is  called  a  sensory  nerve. 

Usually  there  is  not  one  excitation  passing  along  one 
fibre,  but  a  number  of  impulses  passing  along  a  number  of 
parallel  fibres.  And  it  is  not  one  cell-body  to  which  trans- 
missions take  place,  but  a  number.  A  group  of  such  cell- 
bodies  is  known  as  a  nei've-centre.  All  groups  of  cell- 
bodies  receive  this  name  whether  they  are  those  which  are 
in  immediate  connection  with  the  fibres  coming  from  the 
skin  or  those  from  which  fibres  pass  to  muscles.  But  in 
the  former  case  they  are  known  as  sensory  centres  ;  and  in 
the  latter,  as  motor  centres.  There  are  such  centi-es  both 
in  the  brain  and  in  the  spinal  cord.  The  nerves  which 
proceed  from  some  portion  of  the  skin  to  a  sensory  centre 
are  called  afferent  (or  sensory)  nerves.  Those  which 
proceed  from  a  motor-centre  to  a  muscle  are  called  eff'erent 
(or  motor)  nerves. 

We  have  seen  that  an  impulse  initiated  at  the  skin  has 
only  one  direction  in  which  to  travel — towards  a  sensory 
centre.  But  there  seems  no  reason  why,  if  a  motor- 
nerve  were  stimulated,  the  excitation  should  not  pass 
backwards  to  the  motor-centre  as  well  as  forwards  to  the 
muscle.     It  may  be  that  the  impulse  can  be  conducted 


26  MIND    AND    BODY. 

through  the  substance  of  the  neurone  equally  well  in  all 
directions.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  there  comes  a  point 
where  connection  with  another  neurone  is  made  by  means 
of  a  synapse.  At  such  points  there  appears  to  be 
opposition  to  transmission  of  excitation  in  the  direction 
motor-sensory.  The  synapses  appear  to  act  like  valves, 
rendering  conduction  from  the  efferent  or  motor  side  of 
the  nervous  system  to  the  afferent  or  sensory  side  very 
difficult.  Nervous  energy  tends,  therefore,  to  flow 
uniformly  towai'ds  the  motor  side,  i.e.  towards  the 
muscles.  This  fact  is  often  referred  to  as  the  law  of 
forward  conduction.  The  whole  nervous  system  may, 
indeed,  be  looked  upon  as  a  multitudinous  collection  of 
arcs  of  nerve  tissue  conducting  impulses  initiated  in  the 
"  skin  "  through  nerve-centres  towards  the  muscles. 

In  the  cerebimm  the  complication  of  nerve-centres  is 
very  great.  In  the  basal  ganglia  it  is  also  considerable. 
It  is  simplest  in  the  spinal  cord.  We  shall  find  that  the 
arcs  referred  to  are  not  separate,  but  connected  in  most 
complicated  fashion.  For  the  sake  of  clearness,  however, 
it  is  well  to  sketch  briefly  the  simplest  form  of  arc,  for- 
getting for  the  moment  any  other  connections  into  which 
it  enters.  Such  an  arc  is  to  be  found  repeated  over  and 
over  again  in  the  spinal  cord.  It  would  consist  of  (1)  a 
sensory  fibre  coming  from  some  portion  of  the  skin ; 
(2)  the  nerve-cell  of  which  this  sensory  fibre  is  a  pro- 
longation ;  and,  connected  with  the  sensory  cell,  (3)  a 
motor  cell  with  (4)  a  motor  fibre  passing  to  a  muscle. 
If  a  stimulus  be  applied  to  the  portion  of  the  skin  in 
question,  an  excitation  is  aroused  in  the  sensory  nerve- 
fibre.  This  excitation  spreads  i-apidly  throughout  the 
neurone,  is  transmitted  across  the  synapse  to  the  motor 
neurone,  ultimately  reaches  the  muscle,  which  is  caused  to 
contract,  and  movement  occurs.  Movements  caused  in 
this  simple  way  are  called  reflex  actions.  They  may  occur 
without  any  consciousness.  Many  of  such  movements  can 
occur  while  the  individual  is  in  a  deep  sleep,  e.g.  the 
movements  of  the  leg  when  the  sole  of  the  foot  is  scratched. 

Large  numbers  of  such  arcs  as  those  just  described 
occur  together.     But  the  arrangement  is  not  so  simple  as 


MIND    AND    BODY.  27 

we  have  sketched  it.  In  the  first  place,  the  spinal  cord 
consists  of  two  halves,  and  each  half  has  its  arcs  (for 
each  side  of  the  body).  Further,  the  motor  and  sensory 
nerves,  though  carrying  impulses  in  different  directions, 
are  bound  up  together  until  they  approach  close  to  the 
cord.  Here  they  divide,  the  sensory  nerve  (after  swelling 
out  into  what  is  called  the  posterior  root  ganglion)  enter- 
ing its  half  of  the  cord  at  the  back,  the  motor  entering 
(we  might  say  coming  out,  if  we  remember  the  direction  of 
its  impulses)  at  the  front.  Since  the  same  occurs  with 
respect  to  the  other  half  of  the  cord,  we  thus  get  a  pair  of 
nerves  (each  with  two  roots  and  each  consisting  of  both 
motor  and  sensory  fibres)  springing  from  the  cord  (Fig.  11). 

ANTERIOr;    NERVE-ROOT 


POSTERIOR' 

NERVE-ROOT         FOSTERIOri    ROOT-GANGLION 

Fig.  11. — Spinal  Nerves  issuing  from  Cord. 

Each  pair  issues  from  the  spinal  cord  through  the  small 
hole  between  the  bones.     There  ai-e  31  such  pairs. 

The  brain  gives  off  from  its  under  surface  twelve  similar 
^  pairs  of  nerves.  These  are  called  the  cranial  nerves  (see 
Fig.  3). 

The  first  pair,  counting  from  before  backwards,  are  the 
I  ,\^^  olfactory  nerves,  or  the  nerves  of  smell.  These  are  sensory 
"  y  or  afferent  nerves,  the  fibres  of  which  bring  impulses  from 
the  lining  of  the  nose. 

The  second  pair  ai'e  the  sensory  nerves  of  the  eye  or  the 
oj>tic  nerves.  They  enter  at  the  back  of  the  eye,  and 
spread  out  into  a  delicate  and  complicated  layer  of  nervous 
tissue  called  the  retina. 

The  third  jyair  are  called  the  mofores  oculi.  Tliey  are  dis- 
tributed to  some  of  the  muscles  which  move  the  eye-balls. 

The  fourth  pair  are  also  motor  nerves,  each  of  which 
supplies  one  of  the  eye  muscles. 

The  fifth  pair  are  very  large  and  contain  both  motor 


28  MIND    AND    BODY. 

and  sensory  fibres.  Each  divides  into  three  branches  and 
they  are  consequently  called  the  trigeminal  nerves.  They 
supply  the  skin  of  the  face,  the  muscles  of  the  lower  jaw 
and  the  tongue.  One  branch  of  each  trigeminal  nerve 
supplies  the  fore-part  of  the  tongue  with  sensory  fibres, 
and  is  often  called  the  gustatory. 

The  sixth  pair  are  small.  Each  supplies  one  muscle  of 
the  eye — the  one  which  turns  the  eye-ball  outwards. 

The  seventh  pair  are  called  facial  nerves.  They  are 
motor  nerves  which  supply  the  muscles  of  the  face  and 
some  other  muscles. 

The  eighth  pair  are  the  auditory  nerves — the  sensory 
nerves  which  bring  excitations  originating  in  the  ear. 

The  ninth  pair,  called  the  glossopharyngeal,  are  mixed 
nerves.  Their  sensory  fibres  enable  us  to  taste,  while  the 
motor  fibres  supply  the  muscles  of  the  pharynx  (the  cavity 
behind  the  mouth). 

The  tenth  pair  are  termed  pneumogastric  nerves.  They 
are  important  mixed  nerves  which  send  fibres  to  the 
larynx,  the  lungs,  the  liver,  the  stomach,  and  the  heart. 

The  eleventh  pair  are  motor  nerves  which  supply  certain 
muscles  of  the  neck. 

The  twelfth  pair  are  motor  nerves  supplying  fibres  to  the 
muscles  of  the  tongue. 

Arcs  similar  to  those  already  described  in  dealing  with 
the  spinal  cord  occur  in  connection  with  the  cranial  nerves. 
All  such  simple  arcs,  whether  in  the  spinal  cord  itseK  or 
in  the  higher  regions  to  which  we  have  been  referring,  are 
called  arcs  of  the  spinal  level,  and  the  movements  produced 
by  their  sole  agency  are  called  reflex  actions. 

There  are,  besides  those  already  mentioned,  other  nerve- 
centres  in  different  parts  of  the  body,  e.g.  in  the  heart  and 
stomach,  and  also  in  parallel  chains  on  each  side  of  the 
spine.  These  are  to  some  extent  connected  with  the 
system  which  we  have  already  described.  But  they  act 
to  a  large  extent  independently,  controlling  a  vast  number 
of  reflex  actions  or  involuntary  movements  within  the 
body.  In  this  way,  for  instance,  they  regulate  the  supply 
of  blood  to  the  various  parts  of  the  body.  This  system 
is   known   as   the    sympathetic   system,    to  distinguish   it 


MIND    AND    BODY. 


29 


from  the  one  which  has  been  previously  described,  and 
which  is  known  as  the  central  nervous  system  or  the 
cerebrospinal  system. 

Ee turning  now  to  the  central  nervous  system,  we  must 
note  that  only  its  lower  arcs  have  been  dealt  with.  But 
the  brain  consists  principally 
of  higher  nerve-centres.  These 
are,  however,  connected  with 
the  lower  centres.  The  affer- 
ent or  sensory  paths,  besides 
helping  to  form  the  arcs  of 
the  spinal  level,  are  continued 
upwards  to  the  cerebrum.  The 
axons  which  serve  this  purpose 
in  the  cord  proceed  upwards, 
giving  off  branches  to  other 
centres  as  they  go,  and  at  the 
top  they  make  junctions  with 
other  long  neurones,  which 
cross  over  fi'om  one  side  to  the 
other  (from  the  left  side  to 
the  right  or  vice  versa)  and 
passing  through  the  basal 
ganglia  ultimately  reach  the 
cortex  of  the  cerebrum  on 
the  opposite  side  from  that 
in  which  they  originated. 
Each  cerebral  hemisphere  is 
thus  connected  by  afferent 
nerves  with  the  sense  organs 
of  the  opposite  side  of  the 
body. 

The  parts  of  the  cortex  to 
which  these  afferent  nerves 
lead  are  known  as  sensory  areas.  In  these  areas  of  grey 
matter,  afferent  neurones  are  connected  by  longer  or 
shorter  chains  of  small  neurones  with  other  and  efferent 
neurones  whose  fibres  pass  down  and  join  the  various 
motor  mechanisms  of  the  spinal  level.  We  thus  have 
sensori-motor  arcs  of  what  is  called  the  intermediate  level. 


Fig.  12. — DiAGRAMSHOWINO  ARRANGE- 
MENT   OF    Neurones    in    Si-inal 
Centre. 
S,  Sensoi7  Neurone  ;  5,,  Conduction 
Path   to   Higher  Centres ;    M,    Motor 
Neurone;  Jl/„  Conduction  Patli  from 
Higlier  Centres.      (Sand  3/ would  in 
many  cases  be  very  long.) 


30  MIND    AND    BODY. 

They  consist  of  long  loops  upon  the  sensori-motor  arcs  of 
the  spinal  level.  An  impulse,  instead  of  passing  completely 
through  the  lower  arc,  may  be  deflected,  in  whole  or  in 
part,  through  the  intermediate  level  of  the  cortex.  If  this 
occurs,  that  form  of  consciousness  which  is  known  as 
sensation  arises.^  Automatic  movements  still  occur.  But 
they  are  now  to  be  termed  sensation-rejiexes .  To  take  an 
instance,  while  I  am  writing  a  fly  may  pass  close  to  my 
eye,  causing  me  to  blink.  I  may  pay  no  definite  attention 
to  the  fly,  and  I  certainly  do  not  make  up  my  mind  to 
blink.  The  whole  takes  place  mechanically.  Other 
examples  of  such  sensation-reflexes  are  sneezing,  the 
cough  provoked  by  irritation  in  the  throat,  the  turn- 
ing of  the  eyes  and  head  towards  any  bright  flash  of 
light,  or  of  the  face  towards  the  source  of  a  sudden  loud 
noise. 

Some  writers  would  prefer  to  call  such  movements  as 
these  last  by  the  name  of  instinctive  actions.  But  this 
term  is  usually  applied  to  more  complex  cases  which 
involve  as  a  necessary  constituent  enough  consciousness  to 
include  definite  perception  of  the  object,  some  emotional 
excitement  at  the  percej)tion  of  it,  and  the  tendency  to 
adopt  a  certain  general  attitude  and  line  of  action  towards  it. 
All  this,  however,  need  not  include  any  understanding  of 
the  end  of  the  actions,  still  less  any  definite  desire  for 
that  end ;  the  animal  or  person  simply  feels  moved  to  do 
certain  things.  Thus  a  spider  perceives  a  fly  in  his  web, 
and  runs  to  attack  him.  This  would  be  a  case  of  instinc- 
tive action  in  the  strict  sense.  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to 
draw  the  line  between  reflex  action  and  instinctive  action  .^ 
Kirkpatrick  distinguishes  them  as  follows  :    "  Whei-e  the 

>  Until  quite  lately  it  was  held  by  most  authorities  that  no 
form  of  consciousness  can  occur  unless  some  part  of  the  cortex  is 
excited.  But  recent  researches  seem  to  indicate  that  some  sensa- 
tions may  arise  before  an  afferent  impulse  reaches  the  cortex, 
though  not  before  it  reaches  certain  synapses  in  the  hasal  ganglia 
of  the  brain.  (It  is  thought  that  consciousness  arises  only  in 
connection  with  the  passage  of  an  impulse  across  sj-napses,  either 
in  this  place  or  in  the  cortex,  but  more  especially  in  the  latter.) 

-  Some  writers  {e.g.  Spencer)  refuse  to  make  any  clear  distinction, 
and  call  all  instinctive  actions  compound  reflexes. 


MIND    AND    BODY.  81 

reaction  is  of  a  part  of  the  orgauisni  only,  it  is  more 
properly  called  a  reflex  ;  while  more  complex  reactions  of 
many  parts  for  the  good  of  the  whole  organism  are 
designated  as  instincts."^  These  instincts  will  be  dealt 
with  more  fully  in  later  chapters.  Meanwhile  it  is  well 
to  point  out  that  on  the  neural  side  instinctive  actions 
involve  some  of  the  still  higher  arcs  which  we  now 
proceed  to  study. 

There  are,  then,  still  higher  centres.  These,  with  their 
fibres,  constitute  what  are  called  arcs  of  the  third  level. 
They  are  not  higher  with  respect  to  altitude — since  those  of 
the  intermediate  level  are  already  in  the  cortex,  and  there 
is  nothing  above  that.  They  are,  indeed,  distributed  over 
various  areas  of  the  cortex  not  occvipied  by  the  cells  of  the 
intermediate  level.  They  are,  however,  higher  m.  function. 
They  consist  of  neurones  which  form  arcs  related  to  those 
of  the  intermediate  level  in  a  way  similar  to  that  in  which 
these  are  related  to  those  of  the  spinal  level.  It  is  in 
connection  with  the  functioning  of  the  arcs  of  the  third 
level  that  the  higher  and  more  definite  forms  of  conscious- 
ness arise — such  processes  as  perception,  imagination,  and 
conception  (of  which  we  shall  treat  later).  It  is  probable 
that  among  these  higher  centres  there  exist  many 
different  levels  corresponding  to  the  various  degrees  of 
understanding  and  attainment.  Unlike  the  ares  of  the 
lower  levels,  these  arcs  are  not  ready-made  to  any  large 
extent  in  man  at  the  beginning  of  life.'-  They  go  on  deve- 
loping almost  throughout  life  and  they  develop  in  different 
ways  according  to  the  experiences  of  individuals.  They 
are  the  parts  of  the  brain  most  intimately  connected  with 
learning  hy  experience,  the  capacity  for  which  is  possessed 
in  a  high  degree  only  by  man.     It  is  not  surprising,  then, 

•  Genetic  Psychology,  pp.  92,  93. 

*  In  so  far  as  they  are  "ready-made  "  they  form  the  neural  basis  of 
instincts.  Man  has  indeed  a  large  share  of  these.  But  they  do  not 
form  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  whole,  nor  are  they  so  perfectly 
ready-made,  as  in  the  case  of  many  of  the  other  animals.  Further, 
many  of  them,  though  they  may  be  called  "ready-made,"  are  not  in 
this  state  immediately,  or  very  soon,  after  birth  ;  but  develop  as 
growth  proceeds — like  the  teeth  or  the  beard — often  after  many 
years  of  life. 


32  MIND    AND    BODY. 

that  tliese  parts  of  the  brain  are  very  rudimentary  in  the 
lower  animals.^ 

The  paths  taken  by  an  impulse  which  rises  above  an  arc 
of  the  spinal  level  may  be  almost  infinitely  various  ;  for 
the  neurones  of  the  higher  levels  are  connected  in  very 
many  different  ways,  especially  in  the  case  of  arcs  of  the 
third  level.  These  connections  are  continually  being 
modified  in  the  course  of,  and  by  reason  of,  experience. 
We  may  liken  the  higher  levels  to  the  central  office  of  a 
telephone  system.  A  message  coming  in  from  one  house 
may  be  directed  along  each  of  a  large  number  of  wires. 
So  a  given  stimi;lus  may  give  rise  to  an  excitation  which, 
if  it  is  deflected  to  the  higher  loops,  may  produce  any  one 
of  an  immense  variety  of  results.  It  is  not,  of  course, 
meant  that  the  whole  affair  is  a  matter  of  chance. 
Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  chance.  What 
is  meant  is  that,  on  account  of  the  large  number  of 
connections  which  exist  in  the  cortex,  many  tracts  can  be 
pursued,  though  at  any  given  moment  the  path  actually 
taken  is  determined  by  the  conditions  existing  at  that 
moment,  so  that  there  AvovJd  be  no  chance  in  the  matter 
at  all  to  one  who  could  know  the  whole  of  the  conditions. 

It  is  impossible  to  go  ftu'ther  into  details  here.  The 
structure  and  functioning  of  the  brain  is  not  yet  com- 
pletely understood,  though  many  brilliant  scientists  have 
devoted  their  lives  to  this  department  of  physiology. 
Sufficient  has  been  said  to  show  that  consciousness  is 
intimately  connected  with  physiological  processes  taking 
place  in  the  cells  of  the  grey  matter  in  the  cortex  of  the 
cerebrum. 

A  few  additional  facts  will  perhaps  further  emphasise 
our  conclusions.  Injury  to  portions  of  the  cortex  usually 
leads  to  loss  of  mental  power.  Thus  in  aphasia,  or  loss 
of  speech,  certain  areas  of  the  cortex  are  frequently  found 
to  have  been  affected.  Further,  it  has  been  demonstrated 
that,  whenever  there  is  great  mental  activity  there  is 
increased  circulation  of  blood  in  the  brain,  and  the  waste 

^  They  are  rudimentary  in  the  sense  that  they  consist  verj'  largely 
of  the  ready-made  arcs  connected  with  instincts,  and  possess  little 
space  for  complex  modifications  of  these. 


MIND    AND    BODY.  33 

products  carried  away  by  the  blood  are  greater.  If  the 
blood-supply  to  the  braiu  is  interrupted,  loss  of  conscious- 
ness at  once  occurs.  Like  the  muscles  and  other  portions 
of  the  body,  the  brain  can  only  continue  its  activity  if  it  is 
supplied  with  pure  blood,  to  renew  the  tissues  which  are 
decomposed,  and  to  carry  away  the  products  of  the 
decomposition. 

The  well-worn  motto  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano  assumes, 
therefore,  very  great  importance.  The  pvu-e  blood  neces- 
sary for  the  nervous  system  (as  well  as  for  other  parts 
of  the  body)  can  only  be  produced  if  the  body  is  kept 
healthy.  Under  normal  circvimstances,  good  food  and 
fresh  air  are  the  chief  essentials.  But  even  with  a  good 
supply  of  these,  there  is  a  further  danger.  It  takes  time 
for  worn  tissue  to  be  repaired  and  for  waste  products  to 
be  removed.  If  activity  goes  on  too  continuously,  wearing- 
out  exceeds  repair,  the  blood  and  tissues  become  clogged 
with  waste  products  which  ai'e  poisonous,  and  the  efficiency 
of  the  whole  system  is  decreased.  Such  a  state  is  known 
as  fatigue.  It  is  called  musctdar  fatigue  when  excessive 
activity  of  the  muscles  is  the  cause ;  and  nervous  fatigue 
when  the  activity  of  the  nervous  system  has  been 
unduly  continued.  Since  the  latter  kind  affects  con- 
sciousness— which  is  a  concomitant  of  certain  brain- 
activities— it  is  often  referred  to  as  mental  fatigue.  We 
use  the  adjective  mental  when  we  are  referring  to  the 
impaired  activities  of  consciousness,  to  loss  of  power  in 
concentrating  attention ;  we  employ  the  term  nervous 
when  we  are  alluding  to  the  physical  basis  of  conscious- 
ness, to  the  unsatisfactory  state  of  the  brain  tissue. 

Rest,  thei'efore,  must  be  given  at  frequent  intervals. 
Change  of  activity  will  often  do  much,  especially  when  the 
change  is  from  close  mental  work  to  light  bodily  work 
involving  little  thought.  For  it  involves  a  shifting  of  the 
point  at  which  wear  is  taking  place.  But  if  the  blood  is 
highly  charged  with  waste  products,  it  is  dangerous  to 
change  to  any  other  activity  ;  for  only  poisoned  blood  can 
come  to  the  new  tissue  which  is  exercised.  Fatigue 
indeed  tends  to  spread  by  means  of  the  blood.  Thus, 
muscular  fatigue  may  induce  nervous   fatigue.     After   a 

FUND.  PSY.  3 


S4  MIND    AND    BODY. 

hard  game  of  football,  a  boy  is  uot  in  a  condition  to 
attack  serious  mental  work.  If  the  signs  of  fatigue  are 
ignored,  serious  harm  may  be  done.  In  extreme  cases, 
death  may  occur — death  from  poison  !  "  The  hunted 
hare  run  to  death  dies  .  .  .  because  a  poisoned  blood 
poisons  his  brain,  poisons  his  whole  body "  (Sir  M. 
Foster). 

Questions  on  Chapter  II. 

1.  ISIention  some  of  the  most  important  conclusions  of  physiology 
with  reference  to  the  relation  of  body  and  mind.  Deduce  there- 
from some  rules  for  your  guidance  in  the  class-room. 

2.  What  is  reflex  action  ?  Give  examples.  How  is  it  that  a  man 
in  a  fit,  though  quite  unconscious,  may  go  on  breathing  regularly  ? 

3.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  a  sensation-reflex,  giving  examples. 

4.  Man  is  capable  of  an  immensely  greater  number  of  responses 
to  his  environment  than  any  lower  animals.  Indicate  briefly  the 
differences  in  the  structure  of  his  nervous  system  which  render  this 
superiority  possible. 

5.  ' '  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy. "  Give  scien- 
tific grounds  for  this  statement. 

6.  What  do  you  understand  by  mental  fatigue  ?  How  does  it 
differ  from  mttscular  fatigue^.  Is  there  any  cormection  between 
the  two  ? 

7.  Supposing  that  a  class  of  boys  had  a  drawing  lesson  at  a 
certain  time  one  day,  and  a  lesson  in  gymnastics  at  the  same  time  on 
the  next  day,  after  which  of  these  exercises  could  a  difficult  lesson 
in  arithmetic  be  the  more  satisfactorily  placed  ?  Give  reasons  for 
your  answer. 


CHAPTER    III. 


Preliminary  Analysis  of  Mental  Phenomena. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  all  mental  processes  are 
accompauied  by  processes  iu  tlie  nervous  system,  it  is 
obvious  that  a  complete  knowledge  of  the  latter,  its 
method  of  functioning  and  development,  would  throw 
much  light  on  the  way  in  which  mental  processes  arise. 
But  our  knowledge  of  the  nervous  system  is  still  in  a 
rudimentaiy  state.  Although  it  does  throw  considerable 
light  on  the  problem  of  the  genesis  and  development 
of  mental  phenomena,  we  find  that  the  examination  of 
mental  states,  in  and  for  themselves,  has  in  many  cases 
proceeded  without  any  definite  knowledge  of  the  nervous 
processes  which  are  involved.  We  have  gained  much  of 
our  knowledge  of  mental  processes  solely  by  introspection. 
To  take  an  example,  we  find  ourselves  dwelling  on 
thoughts  which  give  us  pleasure  and  striving  to  be  rid  of 
those  which  give  us  pain.  But  we  have  no  knowledge  of 
the  nervous  processes  which  ai-e  involved  in  either  pleasure 
or  pain.  We  are  quite  convinced  of  certain  facts  on  the 
mental  side,  though  we  have  no  idea  of  what  their  nervous 
concomitants  may  be.  We  have,  therefore,  frequently  to 
carry  on  introspective  psychology  with  little  help  from 
the  field  of  physiology.  In  some  cases,  indeed,  our 
introspective  results  have  thrown  light  on  the  problems  of 
physiology,  guiding  the  physiologists  in  their  investiga- 
tions of  nervous  processes. 

It  is  necessary,  then,  to  depend  a  great  deal  on  intro- 
spection.     And    it  is    well,    at    the    outset,    to    attempt 

35 


36      PRELIMINAEY   ANALYSIS   OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA. 

a  survey  of  tlie  whole  field  of  ineutal  processes,  in 
order  to  distinguish  their  chief  characteristics. 

As  long  as  we  are  awake,  some  of  these  mental  processes 
are  taking  place.  As  long  as  we  are  awake,  we  are  aware, 
or  conscious,  or  cognisant,  of  certain  things.  If  we  were 
not,  we  should  not  be  awake.  The  things  of  Avhicli  we  are 
cognisant  at  different  moments  of  our  existence  are  of 
very  different  kinds.  Sitting  in  my  room,  I  may  be  at 
one  time  conscious  of  the  jjen  in  my  hand  and  of  myself 
writing.  I  am  attempting  to  write  on  psychology,  and  at 
times  the  ideas  connected  with  the  subject  may  so  engross 
me  that  for  the  moment  I  am  not  clearly  cognisant  either 
of  the  pen  in  my  hand  or  of  myself  as  writing.  I  may 
turn  to  a  book  by  my  side,  read  a  sentence  in  it,  and 
concentrate  my  attention  on  the  meaning  of  that  sentence. 
A  minute  later,  the  noise  of  a  passing  cai-t  disturbs  me, 
and  for  a  brief  instant  psychology  and  writing  ai-e  for- 
gotten while  I  look  out  from  the  window.  I  may  lean 
back  in  my  chair  for  a  moment,  and  reflect  on  the  difii- 
culty  of  this  subject.  I  may  light  my  pipe  and  take  a 
rest.  I  may  even  begin  to  doze  off.  But  as  long  as  I  am 
to  any  extent  awake,  I  am  cognisant  of  something.  All 
mental  states,  then,  involve  this  cognisance.  Of  what- 
ever kind  the  thing  or  things  may  be  to  which  I  attend, 
it  is  usual  to  speak  of  it  or  them  as  the  object.  Used  in 
this  way,  the  word  does  not  merely  refer  to  anything 
which  can  be  seen  or  handled.  It  refers  to  anything 
which  can  he  attended  to.  Although,  when  used  in  this 
sense,  it  is  almost  always  written  in  the  singular,  what  is 
designated  by  it  may  be  a  number  of  things. 

One  characteristic,  then,  of  all  our  mental  states  is  that 
they  involve  cognisance  of  an  object.  This  aspect  or 
characteristic  is  referred  to  by  psychologists  in  various 
terms.  The  chief  are  cognition  and  knoiving.  Whatever 
other  characteristics  a  mental  process  may  have,  it  always 
involves  the  cognition  or  Tcnoioing  of  an  object. 

Reverting  to  the  examples  of  conscious  states  which  have 
been  cited,  we  may  notice  a  second  characteristic.  When 
I  lean  back  in  my  chair  and  reflect  upon  the  difficulty  of 
psychology,  I  am  pained.     When  I  light  my    pipe  and 


PKELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA.       -jZ 

take  a  rest,  I  experience  pleasure.  Pleasure  and  pain  are 
clearly  present  in  these  cases.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to 
describe  tliese  feelings  to  you.  If  you  had  not  experi- 
enced them  yourself  under  some  circumstances,  you  could 
not  appi'eciate  what  I  am  referring  to.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary for  you  to  have  reflected  on  the  difficulty  of 
psychology,  or  to  have  smolced  a  pipe.  You  have,  however, 
experienced  the  same  kind  of  feeling  in  connection  with 
other  mental  states. 

^  Tou  may,  during  last  summer,  have  drunk  a  cool  glass 
of  lemonade  when  you  were  hot  and  tired  after  a  long 
walk  in  the  sun.  Towards  the  end  of  your  walk  you  were 
fatigued.  As  you  toiled  on  in  the  hot  sun,  you  were 
certainly  not  in  a  pleasant  state.  It  may  be  that  the 
thought  of  a  rest  and  of  refreshment  arose  from  time  to 
time.  This  was  to  some  extent  pleasant.  But  the  sensa- 
tions involved  in  trudging  on  in  the  heat  were  distinctly 
disagreeable.  The  di-aught  of  cool  lemonade  at  the  end 
was  highly  pleasurable — a  good  deal  more  so  than  the 
mere  thought  of  it  during  the  walk.  You  have  no  doubt 
passed  through  innumerable  states  during  which  you  have 
experienced  some  of  this  j)leasure  and  ^jai'w. 

These  states  were  widely  different  in  other  respects. 
But  they  were  all  alike  in  one  way,  in  the  fact  of  their 
being  either  agreeable  or  disagreeable.  This  characteristic 
of  mental  states  is  called  by  psychologists  their  feeUng- 
tone.  Other  words  often  employed  to  designate  it  are 
hedonic  tone,  affection,  pleasure-'pain  (used  as  a  compound 
to  signify  one  or  the  other).  The  word  feeling  is  often 
used  by  itself  to  indicate  the  same  thing.  But  the  student 
must  remember  that  this  word  is  used,  even  in  psychology, 
with  many  other  meanings.  Of  these  we  shall  speak 
later.  The  word  affection  has  also  a  very  different 
meaning  in  ordinary  speech.  Feeling-tone  is  perhaps  the 
safest  term  to  use,  for  although /eeZ/H^  often  means  other 
things,  the  addition  of  the  word  tone  renders  only  our 
present  meaning  possible.  Hedonic  tone  is  also  un- 
equivocal ;  but  its  etymology  is  unfortunate :  it  comes 
from  a  Clreek  word  (/ySoi'//)  which  means  pl^a-snre  only. 
There  can  be  no  ambiguity  if  we  use  the  term  pleasure- 


38       PRELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA. 

pain.  But  it  is  likely  to  suggest  to  the  beginner  that 
there  is  always  a  compound  of  pleasure  and  pain,  instead 
of  one  or  the  other.  True,  we  often  do  have  a  mixture  of 
pleasure  and  pain.  But  that  is  when  we  have  a  complex 
mental  state  of  which  certain  parts  are  pleasurable, 
others  disagreeable. 

The  reader  will  readily  agree  that  many  of  his  mental 
states  have  considerable  feeling-tone.  But  he  may  pro- 
bably dissent  when  it  is  asserted  that  some  pleasure-pain 
is  always  present.  Most  psychologists,  however,  agree 
that '  every  mental  state  is  to  some  extent  coloured  by 
pleasure  or  pain.  In  many  cases,  it  is  true,  the  amount 
of  pleasure  or  pain  is  so  small  that  the  state  appears 
indifferent.  It  is  only  when  these  feelings  are  intense 
that  we  become  aware  of  them.  It  is,  further,  impossible 
to  isolate  the  hedonic-tone  from  the  whole  state  of  which 
it  forms  a  part  or  aspect,  and  to  attend  to  it  by  itself. 
For  it  is  the  way  in  which  we  are  affected  when  we  attend 
to  an  object.  We  attend  to  the  object,  not  to  the  way 
in  which  it  affects  us.  If  we  attempt  to  switch  off  our 
attention  from  the  object  to  direct  it  upon  the  hedonic- 
tone  of  our  state  of  consciousness,  we  have  changed  our 
mental  state,  and  the  feeling-tone  is  thereby  modified. 

In  other  words,  when  we  think  we  are  succeeding  in 
attending,  not  to  the  object,  but  to  the  hedonic  tone,  we 
are  really  attending  to  some  reduced  and  modified  form  of 
our  original  object ;  and  there  is  still  some  hedonic  tone 
(modified  with  the  modified  object)  in  the  background. 
And  if  we  still  attempt  to  come  to  closer  quarters  with 
this  hedonic  tone,  we  only  succeed  in  making  a  still  more 
modified  object,  with  a  new  feeling-tone  accompanying  the 
experience.  It  is  this  evasive  character  of  feeling  which 
is  largely  responsible  for  what  is  sometimes  called  the 
"  Paradox  of  Hedonism  " — the  proverbial  truth  that  those 
who  seek  too  keenly  for  pleasure  are  in  danger  of  missing 
it. 

Although,  however,  feeling  is  so  evasive,  we  shall  find 
that  it  exercises  a  very  great  influence  in  the  mental 
economy.  To  indulge  in  metaphor,  we  may  say  that 
while  it  is  not  a  prominent  statesman   at   the   head  of 


PRELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OP    MENTAL    PHENOMENA.       39 

affairs,  directing  and  governing  openly,  it  is  a  powerful 
'  wire-puller,'  by  whom  the  prominent  statesmen  are 
largely  swayed. 

Lloyd  Morgan  sums  up  the  matter  well  when  he  says  : 
"  In  naive,  natural,  unsophisticated  experience,  and  especi- 
ally in  its  earlier  and  simpler  phases  of  development, 
the  feelings,  important  as  they  are  as  factors  in  the 
field  of  consciousness  as  a  whole,  lie  for  the  most  part 
in  the  background,  and  do  not  occupy  the  field  of  atten- 
tion." 1 

There  remains  a  third  aspect  which  all  mental  states 
possess.  The  late  Professor  James,  probably  the  greatest 
of  American  psychologists,  speaks  of  "  the  stream  of 
thought."  Like  all  analogies,  this  of  a  stream  cannot 
be  carried  very  far.  A  stream  of  water  continues  to  flow, 
but  it  remains  of  the  same  composition.  The  stream 
of  consciousness  is  for  ever  changing  in  character.  But 
it  remains  a  stream — it  tends  to  go  on.  As  Hobbes  puts 
it,  "there  is  no  satisfaction  but  in  proceeding."  Our 
mental  processes,  although  they  are  continually  changing 
and  passing  into  processes  of  a  different  kind,  may  never- 
theless be  marked  off  into  fairly  complete  wholes.  Our 
lives  may  be  broken  up  into  portions  which  are  tolerably 
distinct  one  from  another.  Many  of  these  portions  extend 
over  long  periods.  Some  are  very  short.  And  there  is 
much  overlapping. 

Thus,  a  student  goes  to  college,  and  remains  two  or 
three  years  preparing  for  the  teaching  profession.  This 
period  is  a  fairly  complete  whole.  Within  it  there  are 
smaller  units,  some  of  them  naturally  connected  with 
the  greater  whole,  others  apparently  independent  of  it. 
As  an  example  of  the  former,  we  may  take  the  pre- 
paration and  the  giving  of  a  criticism  lesson.  As  an 
example  of  the  latter,  a  visit  to  a  friend.  There  may, 
of  course,  be  overlapping  periods.  Thus,  within  this 
college  period,  a  new  era — more  or  less  independent  of  it — 
may  commence.  The  student  may  fall  in  love  and  become 
"  engaged  " — let  us  hope  with  no  great  inhibition  of  his 

^  Psychology  for  Ttachers,  New  Edition,  p.  50. 


40       PRELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA. 

studies.  Sucli  a  course  is  certainly  not  to  be  recom- 
mended to  a  young  man  before  lie  has  established  himself 
in  a  fairly  strong  position  in  life.  But,  as  we  shall  see, 
many  things  begin,  and  go  on,  in  opposition  to  reason. 
In  the  case  supposed,  the  new  experience  may  change  the 
whole  current  of  the  student's  life.  It  will  then  become 
connected  with  many  other  experiences,  influencing  and 
being  influenced  by  them,  and  with  them  making  up  the 
person's  life-history. 

Now  at  a  given  instant  our  mental  state  is  part  of 
a  whole  which  has  begun,  and  which  tends  with  more  or 
less  force  of  current  to  complete  itself.  As  we  have  already 
indicated,  there  are  wholes  within  wholes.  The  student 
may  be  studying  a  chapter  to  be  prepared  for  the  next 
psychology  hour  in  college.  His  task  can  be  considered 
as  a  whole,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  strength  of  the 
current  will  be  strong  enough  to  carry  the  business 
through.  But  this  whole  is  part  of  the  greater  whole 
which  includes  the  passing  of  the  final  examination  and 
qualification  for  the  profession  of  teaching.  And  the 
smaller  whole  derives  more  or  less  strength  from  its 
connection  with  the  larger  one,  just  as  a  branch  grows 
well  or  badly  partly  on  account  of  the  stem  to  which 
it  is  attached,  and  from  which  it  derives  nourishment. 

Let  us  take  a  further  example  from  among  the  mental 
processes  cited  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  When  the 
noise  of  the  passing  cart  interrupts  my  work,  anew  mental 
state  is  initiated,  which  tends  to  go  on  in  the  direction 
of  looking  ovit  from  the  window  and  seeing  what  kind  of 
vehicle  is  passing.  This  process  then  runs  down,  and  the 
process  which  it  had  interrupted — the  writing  of  this 
chapter — is  able  to  proceed.  This  example  illustrates  how 
one  mental  process  may  stop  or  inhibit  another.  The  case 
of  the  student  falling  in  love  and  neglecting  his  studies  is 
another  instance.  There  are  a  large  number  of  cases  of 
this  kind,  and  many  of  the  disappointments  of  life  occur 
because  of  failure  to  recognise  that  two  inconsistent 
tendencies  cannot  flourish  together.  On  the  other  hand, 
one  mental  process  may  support  another.  We  have 
already  noted  a  case  in  which  a  larger  helps  a  smaller  one 


PEELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA.       41 

which  is  a  part  of  it.  As  an  instance  of  the  reverse  in- 
fluence we  may  cite  a  teacher  who  ultimately  came  to  take 
a  deep  interest  in  his  profession,  not  because  he  chose  it 
for  himself,  but  because  he  had  a  liking  for  the  study 
which  was  necessary  in  order  to  qualify  himself. 

Everywhere  we  find  this  tendency  to  proceed  in  some 
direction  or  other.  Psychologists  give  it  the  name 
conation.  Some  also  refer  to  it  as  will.  But  this  term 
is  also  used  for  complex  mental  states  or  conditions, 
which,  though  they  depend  very  largely  on  conation,  are 
not  to  be  identified  with  it.  The  word  striving  has  also 
been  frequently  used  as  synonymous  with  conation.  But 
it  is  probably  better  to  reserve  that  word  for  special  cases. 
Conation  may  often  be  very  strong  when,  at  any  i-ate 
according  to  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term,  there 
is  little,  if  any,  striving.  Thus  conation  is  a  marked 
feature  of  the  experience  of  a  hungry  man  who  is  devour- 
ing a  meal.  If,  however,  tliere  is  some  obstacle  to  his 
getting  his  dinner,  there  is  a  strife  between  his  conation 
and  the  obstacle.  We  may  say  that  the  element  of  strife 
enters  consciously  into  conation  only  when  there  is 
opposition  to  its  course. 

It  is  at  such  moments  as  this  that  the  strength  of  a 
conation  is  tested.  Sometimes,  after  a  short  strife,  the 
conation  dies ;  sometimes  the  strife  waxes  fiercer,  the 
conation  apparently  becoming  stronger.  Thus  a  boy  may 
set  out  to  learn  French  and  give  up  when  he  reaches  the 
difficvdties  of  irregular  verbs ;  another,  however,  may  be 
spurred  to  greater  efforts  by  the  opposition  which  he 
meets. 

All  our  mental  states,  then,  have  three  aspects — 
cognition,  feeling  and  conation.  Or,  to  piit  it  in  another 
way,  we  are  at  any  moment  (1)  conscious  of  some  object, 
(2)  affected  either  agreeably  or  disagreeably  l)y  that  object, 
and  (3)  proceeding  on  some  course.  The  "  proceeding " 
may  be  merely  a  further  examination  of  the  object,  it 
may  be  a  turning  away  from  that  object  to  some  other  con- 
nected with  it,  it  may  involve  "  proceeding  "  in  the  physical 
sense,  i.e.  an  actual  l>odily  movement  towards  or  away 
from  the  object.     Jn  all  cases,  however,  the  "  proceeding  " 


42      PRELIMINARY   ANALYSIS    OP    MENTAL    PHENOMENA. 

of  which  we  speak  is  a  continuance  on  some  mental  path, 
whether  it  involves  much  physical  movement  or  not. 

We  have  been  speaking,  of  course,  of  mental  states 
as  we  find  them  in  introspecting.  It  may  be  that  in 
the  earliest  weeks  or  months  of  life,  and  in  the  case  of 
many  of  the  lower  animals,  these  three  well-marked 
aspects  cannot  be  traced.  There  may  be  in  these  cases 
much  more  rudimentary  states.  Some  writers  believe  that 
the  beginnings  of  mental  life  involve  merely  a  vague, 
undilferentiated  kind  of  feeling.  It  seems  fairly  certain 
that,  long  before  a  child  comes  to  school,  his  mental  states 
have  developed  beyond  such  a  crude  condition.  Although 
they  are  probably  not  so  clearly  marked  or  so  varied 
as  our  own,  they  seem  as  far  as  we  can  judge  by 
appearances,  and  in  some  cases  by  memories  of  child- 
hood's days,  to  possess  quite  definitely  the  three  aspects 
to  which  we  have  referred. 

All  the  mental  states  with  which  we  as  teachers  are 
concerned  can  be  considered  from  one  point  of  view  as 
cognitions,  from  another  as  conations.  And  in  the  back- 
ground, exercising  often  an  important  influence  on  these 
processes,  there  is  pleasure-pain.  We  shall  begin  by  con- 
sidering mental  states  as  cognitions,  attempting  to  analyse 
these  states  more  profoundly,  and  to  trace  the  way  in 
which  we  rise  from  the  simpler  forms  to  the  more  complex. 
We  must  remember  that  conation  and  feeling  are  there 
all  the  time,  though  for  purposes  of  simplicity  we  shall 
regard  only  the  cognitive  aspect,  except  where  it  is 
absolutely  impossible  to  get  on  without  reference  to  the 
other  elements.  In  due  course  we  shall  have  to  return 
to  conation  and  feeling,  in  order  to  show  their  influence 
in  the  mental  life. 


Questions  on  Chapter  III. 

1.  Explain  carefully  what  is  meant  by  cognition.  Wliat  various 
objects  may  succeed  one  another  in  the  consciousness  of  a  man 
making  his  last  sprint  at  the  end  of  a  mile  race? 


PRELIMINARY    ANALYSIS    OF    MENTAL    PHENOMENA.      43 

2.  What  is  conation  ?  Give  an  example  (a)  of  one  conation  being 
counteracted  by  another,  (b)  of  one  conation  supporting  another. 

3.  Indicate  what  is  meant  hj  feeling -tone,  and  give  examples  in 
which  both  varieties  occur. 

4.  How  can  you  explain  the  fact  that  the  person  who  is  always 
looking  for  pleasure  is  frequently  disappointed? 

5.  Describe  your  states  of  consciousness  (a)  when  reading  a  tale, 
(b)  when  walking  to  school,  showing  that  cognition,  feeling  and 
conation  are  present  together. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


Sensation. 

The  object  of  my  eouscionsuess  at  the  present  moment 
is  the  paper  on  which  I  am  writing.  How  has  this 
become  my  object  ?  It  is  obvious  that  if  I  had  never 
looked  at  the  paper  it  could  never  have  been  an  object 
to  me.  Now  what  does  this  looking  at  the  paper  involve  ? 
It  involves  my  eye  being  affected  in  a  certain  Avay.  Rays 
of  light  are  reflected  from  the    paper    in    all  directions. 


VITREOUS. 
MUSCLE 


CILIARY  _  _ 

HUMOUR 


SCLEROTIC 
COAT 

RETINA 


AQUEOUS 

HUMOUR  ^^^  .        "^^^     OPTIC    NERVE 

CHOROID    COAT 

Fig.  13. — Section  of  the  Eye. 

Some  of  them  pass  through  the  transparent  skin  (or 
cornea)  in  the  front  of  my  eye,  thi'ough  a  clear  fluid 
(called  tlie  aqueous  /«/?>; o?tr),  through  a  small  round  trans- 
parent body  (called  the  lens),  hy  which  they  are  converged 
through  a  clear  jelly-like  sul^stance  (called  the  vitreous 
hmnour),  and  are  ultimately  focused  on  the  retina.  This 
forms  the  coat  of  the  back  half  of  the  interior  of  the  eye. 
It  is  composed  of  nervous  tissue  which  is  formed  by 
the  spreading  out  of  the  optic  nerve  (see  Pig.  13). 

44 


SENSATION.  45 

The  various  rays  of  liglit  wliicli  impinge  upon  the  retiua 
produce  chemical  changes.  These  set  up  nervous  impulses 
which  pass  along  the  optic  nerve  to  certain  of  the  basal 
ganglia  of  the  brain.  Some  reflex  actions,  both  of  muscles 
within  the  eye  ami  of  muscles  surrounding  the  eye,  may 
thus  be  stimulated,  and  these  movements  would  give  rise 
(in  a  way  which  will  be  described  shortly)  to  other 
afferent  impulses,  which  in  their  turn  might  arouse  new 
reflex  actions.  But  if  the  impulses  could  confine  themselves 
to  such  arcs  of  the  first  level,  there  would  be  little  if  any 
consciousness  connected  with  them.  There  are,  however, 
certain  fibres  proceeding  from  the  basal  ganglia  in  question 
to  the  occipital  cortex.  These  fibres  ai'e  also  affected,  and 
produce  cortical  excitation.  The  moment  this  occurs, 
there  is  consciousness.  (There  was,  of  course,  con- 
sciousness before,  if  I  was  awake,  but  it  was  connected 
with  other  excitations.  The  consciousness  which  we  are 
describing  as  suddenly  arising  is  that  due  to  looking  at 
the  paper.) 

The  consciousness  which  arises  in  connection  with  the 
excitation  of  the  part  of  the  cortex  referred  to  is  known  as 
sensation}  In  this  case,  the  sensations  which  arise  are 
called  sight  sensations.  But  in  the  adult,  and  even  in 
infant  life,  the  brain  has  become  so  organised  that  other 
parts  of  the  cortex  are  affected,  and  other  forms  of  con- 
sciousness arise  concomitantly.^We  thus  never  get  pure 
sensations  in  our  mental  life.  Indeed,  the  other  forms 
of  consciousness  which  arise  are  so  prominent  that  the 
sensations,  as  such,  ai-e  usually  neglected.  I  have 
sight  sensations  due  to  the  presence  of  the  paper,  but 
these  sensations  are  not  my  object.  They  help  to  con- 
stitute that  object  in  my  mmd  ;  that  object,  indeed,  would 
not  exist  for  me  if  I  had  not  these  sensations.  But  Avhen 
I  can  say  that  I  see  the  paper,  my  mental  state  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  what  a  mere  awai'euess  of  certain 
sensations  would  be,  if  it  were  possible  to  have  such  a 
rudimentaiy  condition. 

'  As  already  pointed  out  (see  footnote  1  on  p.  30),  some  sensations 
may  possibly  occur  before  the  excitations  reach  the  cortex. 


46  SENSATION. 

There  are  sometimes  brief  moments  during  which  we 
do  approximate  to  this  simple  state.  Wlien  we  are  just 
waking  up  from  sleep,  for  instance,  the  brain  often  takes 
a  few  moments  to  revert  to  its  normal  condition.  The 
full  circulation  of  blood  necessary  for  normal  mental 
activity  has  not  yet  recommenced.  We  open  our  eyes  and 
certain  cells  of  the  occipital  lobe  are  excited  (through  the 
paths  already  indicated)  an  appreciable  moment  before  the 
spreading  of  the  impulse  along  the  usual  well-worn  paths 
to  other  portions  of  the  cortex.  For  a  moment  Ave  have 
a  vague  awareness  or  consciousness  without  any  distinct 
reference  to  any  object.  This  is  such  a  rudimentary  state 
of  consciousness  that  we  speak  of  ourselves  as  dazed  or 
half-asleep.  In  a  moment,  however,  we  recognise  the  light 
streaming  in  from  the  window.  We  have  an  object.  The 
nervous  impulses  have  passed  on  through  their  usual  paths 
to  other  parts  of  the  cortex.  We  are  aivake.  Through 
the  medium  of  other  sensations  (which  a  moment  before 
were  so  faint  as  not  even  to  produce  the  vague  aware- 
ness due  to  the  more  intense  sight  sensations)  Ave  have 
now  a  variety  of  objects — the  bed,  the  room,  ourselves, 
and  so  forth. 

It  is  impossible,  then,  to  nd  ourselves  of  the  more 
advanced  state  of  consciousness  which  is  aroused  in 
waking  life  together  with  our  sensations.  Even  if  we 
could,  there  would  be  no  profit  for  psychological  investiga- 
tion. For  a  state  in  which  only  sensations  existed  Avould 
involve  a  vague,  dazed,  indefinite  condition  of  mind  in 
which  no  such  thing  as  cognition  of  an  object  Avould  be 
present.  As  Ave  should  know  nothing  definite,  we  should 
remember  nothing  definite.  And  Ave  should  be  as  Avise  at 
the  end  as  we  were  beforehand. 

""  .It  is,  perhaps,  unnecessary  to  go  to  those  rare  moments 
between  sleep  and  waking  life  to  seek  instances  in  which 
we  approximate  to  a  state  of  mere  sensation.  For  along- 
side of  our  definite  processes  of  cognition  of  objects, 
there  are  many  sensations  which  vaguely  affect  us  Avith- 
out  giving  rise  to  any  clear  consciousness.  As  I  write,  I 
have  sensations  due  to  the  contact  of  my  clothes  with 
my  body,  to  the  pressure  of   my  body    on    the   chair,  to 


SENSATIOl?*  47 

the  general  degree  of  illumination  of  the  room,  to  heat  or 
cold,  to  the  state  of  my  internal  organs,  and  so  forth. 
Now  I  cannot  attend  to  many  things  at  once.  While  I 
am  attending  to  my  writing,  most  of  these  other  sensations 
pass  unnoticed.  But  some  of  them,  on  account  of  their 
intensity,  or  because  of  a  strong  feeling-tone,  may  claim 
my  attention.  My  writing  is  forgotten  for  the  moment, 
and  I  think  of  some  other  object.  I  find  the  room  too 
cold,  aud  proceed  to  poke  the  fire.  Or  I  recognise  that 
I  am  hungry,  and  begin  to  wish  for  dinner-time. 

The  moment  any  group  of  sensations  gets  sufficient  hold 
over  me  to  claim  my  attention,  a  new  object  arises  to 
obscure,  if  not  to  obliterate,  all  others.  I  have  only  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  nervous  energy,  and  a  corresponding  amount 
of  mental  energy.  Although  there  may  be  excitations  in 
many  parts  of  the  cortex,  there  is  not  enough  nervous 
energy  to  cause  all  these  excitations  to  spread  along 
those  well-worn  paths  wljich  each  could  follow  if  it  were 
well  backed  up. 

From  such  observations  we  conclude  that  the  principle 
"  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given  "  appears  to  govern 
the  psycho-physical  economy.  When  any  region  of  the 
nervous  system  is  thrown  into  a  state  of  excitation,  it 
tends  to  drain  the  energy  from  other  parts.  There  is, 
therefoi'e,  a  continual  competition  among  the  various 
portions  of  the  cortex  excited  at  any  given  moment  for 
the  available  nervous  energy ;  or,  to  speak  in  mental  terms, 
there  is  a  strife  among  many  sensations  for  supremacy. 
And  victory  involves  that  the  impulses  obtaining  it  are 
able  to  spread  to  other  and  higher  centres,  giving  rise  to 
definite  cognition  of  a  particular  object,  and  weakening 
the  excitations  in  other  places,  so  that  the  sensations  corre- 
sponding to  those  excitations  are  scarcely  experienced  at  all. 

There  is  seldom,  however,  a  complete  victory,  and  the 
supremacy  does  not  last  long.  The  obscured  sensations 
remain  in  the  background  of  the  process  of  cognition  in 
question,  and  some  of  them  may  gather  strength,  as  this 
runs  down,  to  reassert  themselves,  and  to  claim  the  right 
to  that  preponderance  of  mental  activity  which  will  raise 
them  from  obscurity  to  the  clearness  of  cognition. 


48  SENSATION. 

It  might  be  thought  that  if  I  choose  to  direct  my 
attention  on  the  sensations  which  arise  as  I  look  at  the 
paper,  and  to  put  aside  resohitely  all  interpretation  of  them 
as  paper,  I  could  thus  reduce  my  object  to  mere  sensations. 
When  I  do  this,  I  am  indeed  changing  my  object,  but  it 
is  still  an  object,  not  a  mere  group  of  sensations.  I  knoiv, 
whether  I  admit  it  or  not,  that  I  am  disregarding  the 
paper  as  such,  and  paying  attention  to  a  part  of  the  object 
— its  appearance.  And  in  so  far  as  I  succeed  in  con- 
centrating attention  upon  this,  I  begin  to  notice  other 
details,  as,  for  instance,  the  grain  of  the  paper,  the  lines 
upon  it,  little  specks  here  and  there,  and  so  on.  All 
these  are  objects,  and  their  existence  for  me  is  due  to 
mental  processes  over  and  above  mere  sensations.  If, 
finalW,  I  (hj  succeed  in  staring  at  the  paper,  forgetting  it 
as  an  object  and  ignoring  all  the  other  objects  connected 
with  it,  I  am  on  the  brink  of  success,  but  alas  !  I  can 
knovj  nothing  of  the  state.  For  knowing,  though  depemlent 
on  sensation,  is  much  more  than 'sensation.  If,  as  I  say,  I 
finally  succeed,  I  go  off  into  a  dazed,  stupid  condition,  of 
which,  as  I  know  nothing  while  it  lasts,  I  can  remember 
nothing  afterwards.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  hypnotic 
trance  is  often  induced  in  some  individuals  by  such 
means. 

The  reader  by  this  time  is  probably  somewhat  confused 
with  respect  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  object.  At  one 
time  it  means  something  outside  me,  as,  for  instance,  a 
piece  of  paper.  At  another  time  it  refers  to  some  state 
or  process  taking  place  in  my  mind.  We  must  be  content 
to  accept  both  significations.  There  are  certainly  objects 
outside  of  us.  But  it  is  equally  certain  that  they  would 
never  become  objects  to  us,  unless  certain  processes  took 
place  in  our  minds.  And  if  these  mental  processes  could 
take  place  in  exactly  the  same  fashion,  without  there  being 
any  external  object,  and  without  anything  happening  to 
contradict  our  conviction,  we  shoidd  believe  in  an  object 
outside  of  us  just  as  fii-mly  as  we  do  when  there  is  an 
external  object. 

This  kind  of  thing  has  happened  in  some  cases.  It  is 
called    an    hallucination.      Individuals    have   been   quite 


SENSATION.  49 

certain  that  they  had  seen  an  object  in  a  certain  place, 
although  many  others  have  affirmed  that  nothing  of  the 
kind  was  there.  But  even  if  a  thousand  people  agree  that 
they  see  an  object  in  a  certain  place,  how  are  we  to  be  cer- 
tain that  they  are  not  all  suifering  from  hallucination? 
There  is  no  answer  to  this  objection.  Some  philosophers 
have  indeed  maintained  that  we  have  no  guarantee  of  the 
existence  of  any  objects  outside  of  us.  We  have  only  our 
mental  states,  they  say,  and  we  have  no  right  to  make 
assertions  of  things  beyond  them. 

Such  thinkers  are  sometimes  known  as  suhjective 
idealists.  The  majority  of  us,  however,  are  content  to 
believe  that  there  ai-e  objects  outside  of  us,  even  although 
we  can  only  know  them  by  means  of  our  mental  states. 

We  see,  then,  that  cognition  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
begin  with  sensation.  It  begins  fi-om  sensation.  We 
could  never  have  cognition  of  external  objects  if  we  had 
never  had  sensations.  But  if  we  had  only  sensations,  we 
should  have  no  cognition.  Long  before  a  child  comes  to 
school,  connections  have  in  many  cases  been  formed  in  its 
brain  of  such  a  nature  that  the  excitation  of  sensory 
centres  spreads  at  once  to  other  centres.  The  sensations 
it  receives,  therefore,  do  not  give  rise  merely  to  a  vague 
awareness,  but  to  a  definite  cognition  of  things,  or,  as  is 
usually  called,  perception. 

Sensation,  therefore,  hy  itself,  is  not  cognition,  but  only 
the  material  of  cognition.  Just  as  the  body  assimilates 
food  and  transforms  it  into  skin,  bone,  and  muscle,  so  the 
mind  receives  sensations  and  makes  objects  out  of  them. 
This  is  a  crude  analogy.  But  it  can  be  carried  a  step 
further.  Just  as  the  solid  food  cannot  be  swallowed 
whole,  but  must  undergo  some  change  in  the  mouth 
before  it  can  even  be  received  into  the  system,  so  the 
sensations  are  transformed  (into  objects)  at  their  very 
entrance  into  the  mind.  And  just  as  further  changes 
take  place  in  the  case  of  food  when  it  gets  to  the  stomach, 
so,  we  shall  find,  other  elaborations  take  place  in  the  case 
of  the  objects.  Just  as  a  baby  can  only  assimilate  food  of 
a  few  simple  kinds,  but  later,  when  its  body  develops,  is 
able  to  eat  and  digest  many  different  varieties,   so   the 

FUND.  PSY.  4 


\ 


50  SENSATION. 

infant  mind  is  only  susceptible  to  a  few  sensationsybut 
later,  when  its  mind  and  brain  develop,  is  able  to  Ideal 
with  an  immense  variety  of  impressions. 

Our  analogy  would  appear  to  break  down  when  it  is 
pointed  out  that  the  body  can  assimilate  very  different 
foods,  yet  manufacture  the  same  materials  out  of  them. 
It  does  break  down.  But  not  completely,  even  here.  For 
we  shall  find  that  many  of  the  highest  generalisations  to 
which  the  mind  attains  can  be  reached  from  the  basis  of 
quite  different  sets  of  sensations.  We  have  only  to  cite 
the  case  of  Helen  Keller,^  a  blind,  deaf,  mute  girl  who  lias 
come  to  think  the  same  things  as  educated  people,  and  to 
think  more  about  them  than  the  vast  majority  of  fairly 
educated  people  in  full  possession  of  all  their  senses. 

We  are  usually  said  to  possess  five  senses,  i.e.  five 
different  kinds  of  bodily  apparatus  whereby  five  varieties 
of  stimuli  from  the  outer  world  are  able  to  set  up  nervous 
excitations  which,  if  transmitted  to  certain  parts  of  the 
brain,  give  rise  to  sensations  of  five  distinct  classes. 
We  shall  find  that  there  are  more  than  five.  The  senses 
usually  enumerated  are  those  of  sight,  hearing,  touch, 
taste,  and  smell.  We  shall  give  a  short  description  of  each 
of  these  five,  and  also  of  those  senses  not  usually 
distinguished. 

The  mechanism  of  the  eye  has  already  been  briefly 
described.  It  remains  to  add  that  in  the  retina  there  are 
two  kinds  of  visual  sense-organs,  the  rods  and  the  cones, 
so  named  after  their  shape.  These  tiny  bodies  are  really 
the  ends  of  sensory  neurones.  Light  falling  upon  them 
produces  chemical  changes,  and  the  resulting  substances 
act  as  stimuli  upon  the  sensory  neurones.  The  rods  and 
cones  are  packed  closely  side  by  side.  But  in  the  centre 
of  the  retina,  cones  only  are  to  be  found.  This  part  is 
called  the  fovea  centralis.  It  is  the  area  on  which  the 
image  of  a  thing  falls  when  that  thing  is  looked  at 
directly.  It  is  under  these  circumstances  that  we  have  the 
clearest  vision. 

In  the  zone  surrounding  the  fovea,  rods  and  cones  are 

'  See  The  World  I  Live  in,  by  Helen  Keller.  (She  is  now  no 
longer  mute.) 


SENSATION.  51 

I  intermingled.  In  the  outer  zone  there  are  very  few  conea^ 
I  The^ cones  seem  to  be  necessary  for  us  to  see  coloursA 
<(  Coloui'ed  objects  which  are  far  to  tlie  side  of  us  are  seeuy 
]  by  means  only  of  the  rods,  and  appear  as  bluish  grey. 
/  The  reason  why  we  are  not  aware  of  tliis  is  that  we  are 
/  continually  shifting  our  eyes  so  as  to  bring  things  into 
I    more  direct  vision. 

\  The  rods  seem  to  be  the  primitive  forms  of  the  visual 
sense-organs  from  which  the  cones  have  in  the  coiirse  of 
ages  been  developed.  These  rods  are  only  capable  of 
acting  in  a  dim  light.  This  they  get  when  they  are  found 
near  the  outer  part  of  the  retina.  But  those  nearer  the 
centre  are  exhausted  in  a  bright  light,  and  only  recover 
their  normal  state  in  a  dim  light,  which  is  not  strong 
enough  to  stimulate  the  cones.  Hence,  when  we  go  from 
a  light  room  into  a  dim  one,  we  are  almost  l)lind  for  a 
moment.  The  light  is  not  strong  enough  for  the  cones. 
But  the  rods  soon  recover,  and  we  see  everything  as 
bluish  grey. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  fact  that  the  image 
focused  on  the  retina  is  inverted,  whereas  we  see  things 
the  right  way  up.  But  we  must  remember  that  it  is  not 
the  eye  which  sees.  Nobody  can  see  the  image  on  his  own 
retina  when  he  is  looking  at  an  object.  It  is  in  the  cortex 
of  the  occipital  lobe  of  the  brain  that  the  excitations  ai*e 
produced  which  give  rise  to  visual  sensations.  Under 
normal  circumstances,  those  excitations  could  not  be  pro- 
duced without  an  image  being  focused  on  the  retina. 
But  if  they  could  be,  we  should  have  the  sensations  in 
question.  When  I  touch  inlv  my  finger  becomes  black. 
But,  vuiless  I  look  at  my  finger,  I  get  no  idea  of  the 
blackness  through  the  sense  of  touch.  What  I  get  to 
know  through  a  given  sense  may  be  very  different  from 
the  kind  of  impression  made  upon  the  sense-organ.  In 
the  case  of  sight,  it  happens  that  there  is  an  inverted 
image  on  the  sense-organ  (the  retina)  very  much  like  tlie 
object  which  I  come  to  know.  But  I  do  not  see  that 
inverted  image. 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  further,  that  the  sensations  alone 
do  not  give  rise  to  the  seeing  of  an  object.     The  excitations 


52  SENSATION. 

must  spread  to  other  centres,  so  that  a  more-  complex 
mental  state  is  produced,  before  we  see  an  object.  This 
has  been  verified  in  the  case  of  men  blind  from  bii'th  who 
have  suddenly  received  the  power  of  obtaining  sight 
sensations.  Such  men  do  not  see  objects  at  first.  Thej 
are  merely  dazed.  When,  later,  their  visual  sensations 
become  overlaid  with  the  products  of  other  portions  of 
their  experience,  they  are  at  length  able  to  see  objects  as 
we  do. 

In  the  case  of  hearing,  the  physical  stimulus  consists  of 
vibrations  of  the  air.     These  are  collected  by  the  external 


CHAIN    OF    OSSICLES 

I  DOLE 


AURICLE 


{CIRCULAR    CANALS 
AUDITORY    NERVE 


external 
auditory" 

CANAL  \V>>i'r?*;;^-^^^^J^  COCHLEA 

USTACHIAN    TUBE 


TEMPORAL    BONE 
(CUT    THROUGH) 

Fig.  14. — Diagrammatic  View  of  the  Ear. 


ear  or  auricle  (which  merely  acts  like  a  small  ear 
trumpet),  pass  down  a  narrow  tube,  and  strike  upon  a 
drum.  A  chain  of  tiny  bones  or  ossicles,  attached  to  the 
inner  sin-face  of  the  drum,  is  set  in  vibration.  An  inner 
membrane,  attached  to  the  further  end  of  the  chain  of 
ossicles,  is  thrown  into  motion.  On  its  other  side  is  the 
internal  ear  or  labyrinth,  so  called  because  of  its  com- 
plicated shape.  This  consists  of  a  central  cavity,  called 
the  vestibule,  with  various  canals  or  tubes  springing  from 
it  and  returning  to  it.  It  is  filled  with  watery  fluids  which 
are  set  in  motion  when  the  vibration  of  the  drum  is 
communicated  by  the  ossicles  to  the  inner  membrane. 

The  most  important  part   of  the  labyrinth,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  hearing,  is  the  cocldea,  which  consists  of  a 


''~^<rCyr'^  C^^MaT 


seS^ation.  53 

spiral  canal  made  up  of  two-aud-a-lialf  turus,  aud  appear- 
ing on  the  outside  very  much  like  a  suail-shell.  Its 
internal  structure  is  somewhat  complicated,  and  cannot  be 
described  here.  It  is  sufficient  to  note  that  there  are  a 
large  number  of  hair-cells  (see  Fig.  9)  which  are  affected 
by  the  vibrations  of  the  fluids.  When  these  cells  are  set 
in  vibration,  they  in  their  turn  affect  the  fine  branches  of 
the  auditory  nerve  which  are  distributed  among  them. 
The  nervous  impulse  spreads  to  a  part  of  the  cortex  in  the 
tempoi'al  lobe  of  the  brain,  aud  sound  sensations  arise. 

Another  part  of  the  labyrinth  consists  of  three  semi- 
circular  ca?ia?s  running  out  of,  aud  back  into,  the  vestibule, 
and  also  filled  with  fluid.  They  lie  in  such  positions 
that  each  one  occupies  a  different  plane.  They  are  not 
organs  of  hearing,  but  of  equilibration.  Any  change  in 
the  position  of  the  head,  or  of  the  body  as  a  whole,  causes 
a  change  of  pi'essure  within  these  canals,  and  gives  rise  to 
sensory  stimulations.  These  stimulations,  however,  do 
not,  under  normal  circumstances,  reach  the  higher  regions 
and  give  rise  to  sensations.  They  are  distributed  by  lower 
centres  of  the  nervous  system  to  the  muscles  which  keep 
the  body  erect  by  reflex  action.  It  is  only  when  they  are 
extremely  intense,  as  when  we  turn  rapidly  round  and 
round,  that  they  give  rise  to  sensations.  We  then 
experience  what  is  called  dizziness.  When  the  I'eflex 
actions  to  which  we  have  referred  are  of  an  unusual  kind, 
as  in  descending  a  lift,  they  give  rise  to  definite  muscular 
sensations  (which  sensations  will  be  more  clearly  indicated 
later  in  this  chapter),  especially  in  the  abdominal  region. 

Here,  then,  we  have  an  extra  sense — the  sense  of  balance 
or  equilibration — which  has  been  overlooked  by  many 
writers.  There  is,  however,  plenty  of  excuse  for  this 
omission,  seeing  that  the  sensations  we  derive  from 
this  sense  are  few  aud  indefinite.  Although  this  sense 
deserves  mention,  it  should  scarcely  be  placed  in  company 
with  sight  and  hearing,  which  give  us  so  many  and  such 
varied  sensations.  It  should  rather  be  relegated  to  the 
company  of  the  "  lower "  senses  of  which  we  shall 
presently  treat. 

For  sensations   of  touch  .to   arise,  there  must  be   con- 


54 


SENSATION. 


tact  of  some  object  with  the  surface  of  the  skiu.  The 
skiu  contains  minute  end-organs  of  sensory  nerves. 
These  do  not  come  out  to  the  surface,  but  are  in  such 
close  proximity  to  it  that  even  a  slight  pressure  upon  it 
affects  them.  If  the  resulting  impulses  reach  the 
cortex  of  the  brain,  we  have  sensations  of  touch.  There 
are  more  end  organs  of  touch  in  some  parts  of  the  skin 
than  in  others.  Thus  there  are  very  many  in  any  small 
area  taken  at  the  tips  of  the  fingers,  very  few  in  an  area 
of  the  same  size  taken  in  the  middle  of  the  back.  If  a 
pair  of  blunt  compass  points  l)e  pressed  upon  the  skin  of 
the  finger  tips,  two  separate  contacts  will  be  recognised  as 
long  as  the  points  are  not  le^s  than  about  ^^  inch  apart. 
On  the  tip  of  the  tongue  only  half  this  distance  is 
necessai-y  to  produce  the  feeling  of  two  separate  contacts. 
But  on  the  skin  of  the  back  the  two  points  are  felt  as  one 
at  any  distance  less  than  about  2  inches.  There  are 
slight  variations  in  these  distances  in  different  people,  and 
even  in  the  same  person  at  different  times  {e.g.  according 
to  degree  of  fatigue).  Practice  also  has  some  effect  in 
reducing  the  distance. 

But  we  do  not  merely  feel  pressure.  We  feel  heat,  cold 
and  jjJrt  m.  Thus  when  I  put  my  finger  in  a  glass  of  cool 
water,  I  have  sensations  of  contact  and  of  cold.  I  do  not 
always  take  the  trouble  to  discriminate  one  from  the 
other.  They  tend  to  fuse.  But  I  can  easily  do  so.  It 
has,  moreover,  been  found  by  experiment  that  different 
sense-organs  are  involved.  A  small  area  of  the  skin  can 
be  marked  oft",  for  instance,  in  the  palm  of  the  hand 
(where  there  are  no  hairs)  and  prodded  all  over  gently 
with  a  hair.  If  this  is  done  carefully  and  systematically, 
it  will  be  found  that  it  is  only  at  certain  points  that 
sensations  of  pressui*e  are  produced.  These  points  can  be 
marked  with  an  aniline  pencil. 

Now  let  the  experimenter  go  over  the  same  surface 
with  a  cold  metal  point.  It  will  be  possible  to  mark  a 
number  of  different  spots,  the  touching  of  which  gives 
rise  to  distinct  cold  sensations,  whereas  the  touching  of 
the  other  portions  does  not  produce  this  effect. 

Next,  a  warmed  metal  point  may  be  used.     This  will 


SENSATION.  55 

lead  to  the  discovery  of  a  third  series  of  spots— warm 
spots. 

Lastly,  a  short  horse-hair  mounted  in  a  match-stick  may 
be  used  to  prod  smartly  on  the  skm.  A  new  variety  of 
sensation  will  be  experienced,  a  distinct  smarting  being 
felt  at  certain  points.  These  will  be  found  to  constitute 
a  fourth  series.  The  smarting  referred  to  is  often  called 
a  jjrti/t- sensation.  This  is  perhaps  an  unfortunate  term. 
It  is  used  because  the  pain  is  so  prominent  as  to  obscure 
any  other  quality.  But  the  other  sensations  to  wdiicli  we 
have  referred  have  their  feeling-tone.  Heat  and  cold 
sensations,  for  instance,  may  be  either  painful  or  pleasant. 
They  are  generally  pleasant  when  the  intensity  of  the  heat 
or  cold  is  only  moderate,  painful  when  the  intensity  is  great. 

We  see,  then,  that  what  is  often  called  the  sense  of 
touch  includes  several  senses  which  have  their  sense-organs 
intermingled  in  the  same  parts  of  the  body,  viz.  the  senses 
of  touch  proper  or  pressure,  of  heat,  of  cold,  and  of  "pain" 
or  smarting. 

There  is  still  another  sense  which  is  connected  with 
touch  and  is  often  subsumed  under  it.  When  we  move 
any  part  of  the  body,  we  experience  certain  sensations 
known  as  muscular  or  kinesthetic  sensations.  Not  only  are 
all  the  muscles  supplied  with  motor  nerve-fibres,  which  by 
conducting  impulses  to  them  are  able  to  cause  them  to 
contract,  but  there  are  other  sensory  fibres  with  their 
endings  or  sense-organs  in  the  muscles,  in  the  tendons, 
and  in  the  tissue  lining  the  smooth  surfaces  of  the  joints. 
When  movements  take  place,  these  sense-organs  are 
stimulated,  impulses  are  initiated,  and  if  these  excitations 
reach  a  certain  area  of  the  cortex  (in  this  case  surrounding 
the  fissure  of  Rolando)  we  have  sensations  of  a  pai-ticular 
kind.  Under  normal  circumstances,  these  sensations  ai'e 
not  very  intense.  They  do  not,  therefore,  like  visual 
sensations,  for  instance,  succeed  in  attracting  attention  to 
such  an  extent  that  they  form  the  principal  basis  for  the 
mental  construction  of  an  object.  But  they  nevertheless 
play  a  most  important  part  in  conjunction  with  other  sen- 
sations, especially  in  conjunction  with  touch  sensations. 

When  the  baby    stretches  out  its  arm  and  grasps  an 


56  SENSATION. 

object,  it  not  only  has  sensations  of  pressui-e,  of  tempera- 
ture, and  possibly  of  smarting  (not  to  mention  the  sight 
sensations  which  accompany  these  others),  but,  both  before 
and  during  its  grasping,  there  are  these  muscular  sensa- 
tions. It  is  the  whole  complex  of  sensations  which  forms 
the  basis  for  its  cognition  of  the  object,  and  the  motor 
sensations  are  extremely  important,  especially  in  ap- 
preciating volume  and  shape. 

Our  cognition  of  space  is  largely  dependent  on  the  kin- 
sesthetic  sense.  How  is  it  that  I  can  know  how  far  my  bare 
ann  has  moved  when  I  am  in  the  dark  ?  There  are  no 
other  sensations  to  guide  me  but  those  of  the  kinaesthetic 
sense.  These  motor  sensations  also  fuse  with  visual 
sensations,  and  help  in  the  formation  of  the  object  as  seen. 
When,  for  instance,  I  look  at  a  thing  which  is  near,  my 
eyes  converge  upon  it,  and  in  the  interior  of  each  eye  there 
are  certain  other  reflex  actions  to  modify  the  shape  of  the 
lens.  Although  the  motor  sensations  aroused  in  connec- 
tion with  such  movements  are  very  faint,  they  no  doubt 
take  their  part  with  the  visual  sensations  in  determining 
the  kind  of  object  which  I  frame  for  myself.  They 
probably  help  in  deciding  upon  the  distance  of  the  object 
from  me. 

We  come  now  to  consider  what  are  sometimes  called  the 
lower  senses.  They  are  so  called  because  they  contribute 
much  less  to  our  knowledge  of  external  objects  than  those 
already  described.  And  first,  of  taste.  Here  the  tongue 
and  the  surrounding  portions  of  the  mouth  and  throat 
are  the  parts  of  the  body  in  which  the  sense-organs  ^  are 
found.  It  would  appear  to  the  uninitiated  that  we  have 
a  great  variety  of  taste  sensations.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
we  have  only  four  kinds — sweet,  bitter,  sour  and  salt. 
There  are  special  sense-organs  for  each  variety.  They 
consist  of  Httle  groups  of  peculiarly  modified  cells  of  the 
skin  (or  epithelitmi)  which  are  called  taste-buds,  and  to 
which  may  be  traced  the  delicate   fibres  from  the  glos- 

^  Sometimes  the  word  sense-organ  is  used  to  denote  the  whole 
bodily  structure  in  which  the  sensory  nerve-endings  are  found, 
sometimes  it  is  used,  as  above,  to  denote  each  of  the  many  nerve- 
endings  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  larger  structure. 


SENSATION. 


57 


sopharyngeal  (9tli)  and  gustatory  (part  of  the  5th) 
uerves  (see  Fig.  8). 

It  should  be  noted  that  a  substance  cannot  be  tasted 
unless  it  is  soluble.  The  saliva  dissolves  portions  of  our 
food  and  brings  them  in  contact  with  the  taste-buds. 
Many  of  these,  indeed,  are  embedded  in  the  linings  of 
very  narrow  clefts,  into  which  even  small  particles  of 
solid  food  could  not  enter.  The  cells  of  the  taste-bud  are 
chemically  affected  by  certain  fluids,  the  nerve-fibres  in 
connection  with  it  are  excited,  and  the  impulse  is  ti'ans- 
mitted  to  the  higher  centres,  in  connection  with  which  a 
taste  sensation  arises. 

The  reader  may  still  hold  that  we  taste  more  than  four 
varieties  of  things.  This  is  quite  true.  But  each  of  those 
varieties  is  based  on  a  compound  of  sensations.  And 
into  this  compound  other  sensations  besides  those  of  taste 
proper  enter.  The  skin  of  the  tongue  has,  in  addition  to  the 
taste-buds,  all  the  organs  which  give  us  sensations  of  touch, 
heat,  cold,  and  smarting,  while  its  muscles  are  supplied 
with  sensory  fibres  which  enable  us  to  have  muscular 
sensations  in  connection  with  it.  More  important  still, 
sensations  of  smell  arise  when  we  are  eating  many  things, 
and  fuse  so  intimately  with  the  other  sensations  that 
we  fail  to  discriminate  them.  A  person  with  his  nose 
stopped  up  and  blindfolded,  so  that  he  does  not  see  what 
is  given  him,  may  sometimes  be  induced  to  eat  a  potato, 
taking  it  for  an  apple.  Even  if  such  a  person  could  not 
be  deceived,  it  might  be  chiefly  on  account  of  the  texture 
of  the  potato  being  different  from  that  of  the  apple.  The 
difference  would  then  be  largely  in  the  tactual  and  muscular 
sensations  experienced  rather  than  in  those  of  taste. 
There  are,  however,  certain  other  sensations,  of  which  we 
shall  pi'esently  speak,  and  which  are  known  as  the  organic 
sensations.  Some  of  these  are  almost  always  fused  with 
those  of  taste  proper. 

The  organs  of  the  sense  of  smell,  or  olfactory  cells,  as 
they  are  called,  are  located  only  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
interior  of  the  nose.  Small  particles  probably  detach 
themselves  from  certain  substances,  and  are  carried  by  the 
air  currents  of  inspiration  into  the  nasal  cavity.     If  we 


58 


SENSATION. 


are  breathing  gently,  so  that  the  air  inspired  does  not 
ascend  to  the  upper  region  of  the  nose,  these  particles 
produce  no  appreciable  effect.  But  the  slightest  increase  of 
force  in  inspiration  sends  some  of  the  particles  into  the 
upper  part  of  the  nose.  There  they  pi-oduce  a  chemical 
effect  upon  the  olfactory  cells.  These  are  true  nerve-cells, 
and  lie,  intenningled  with  other  supporting  cells,  on  the 
surface.  From  them  nerve-fibres  pass  to  the  brain.  In 
the  case  of  smell,  then,  the  nervous  tissue  is  directly  in 
contact  with  the  stimulating  particle.  This  is  pi'obably 
the  reason  why  an  odour  which  is  very  striking  at  fii'st 
soon  grows  less  and  less  impressive,  even  though  the 
stimulus  continues  at  its  original  intensity.  The  different 
qualities  of  olfactory  sensations  have  not  as  yet  been 
clearly  discriminated.  There  are  quite  a  number  of 
different  sensations  possible.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
repeat  that  they  ai'e  often  fused  with  taste  sensations. 
Touch  is  also  present  in  the  nose,  and  some  of  our 
"  smells,"  e.g.  pungent  ones,  owe  a  good  deal  to  the 
presence  of  tactual  sensations.  Organic  sensations  are 
also  intenningled  with  sensations  of  smell  proper. 

It  remains  to  speak  more  fully  of  the  sense  to  Avhich 
reference  has  just  been  made— the  organic  sense.  It  is 
often  ignored  by  luiscientific  writers,  but  it  has  neverthe- 
less an  important  influence  on  our  lives.  Many  scientists 
believe  that  all  the  senses  which  have  already  been 
described  have  in  the  course  of  long  ages  been  differentiated 
from  one  simple  sense,  more  allied  to  touch  than  to  any  of 
the  others.  Many  parts  of  the  body  are  supplied  with 
sensory  nerves  the  stimulation  of  which  leads  to  sensation 
of  a  vague  kind  which  is  probably  the  primitive  quality 
referred  to.  These  sensations  are  so  vague  under  normal 
circumstances  that  they  arouse  no  definite  consciousness. 
They  remain  in  the  background  of  consciousness,  giving 
rise  usually  to  no  cognition  of  objects,  though  they  con- 
tribute largely  to  our  feeling  of  well-being  or  discomfort. 
When  there  is  any  internal  disturbance,  such  as  inflam- 
mation or  injury  to  the  organs,  they  become  very  painful. 
Closely  allied  to  these  sensations  are  certain  other  sensa- 
tions due  to  the  stimulation  of  sense-orerans  in  the  viscera 


SENSATION.  69 

similar  to  tliose  of  touch.  These  sensations  are  also 
vague  and  feeble,  except  when  the  visceral  functions  are 
disturbed,  when  we  get,  for  instance,  such  sensations  as 
those  involved  in  hunger  and  thirst,  in  nausea,  colic, 
palpitation,  flushing,  and  so  forth.  Oi'ganic  sensations 
probably  play  a  large  part  in  the  consciousness  of  onr- 
selves.  We  sometimes  hear  the  expression  :  "  I  don't  feel 
myself  to-day."  The  state  of  consciousness  implied  by 
such  words  is  due  to  changes  in  the  organic  sensations. 

The  sensations  of  each  of  the  senses  which  we  have 
described  are  in  most  cases  clearly  distinguishable  from 
those  of  the  other  senses.  When  we  have  sensations  of 
sight,  we  do  not  confuse  our  experience  with  that  of 
touching  a  table  or  hearing  a  sound.  All  the  sensations 
of  a  given  sense,  in  spite  of  their  diilereuces,  have  some- 
thing in  common :  they  possess  the  same  generic  quality. 
Each  sensation,  however,  differs  from  all  others — even  of 
the  same  sense.  In  other  words,  the  sensations  of  a  given 
generic  quality  have  each  a  specific  quality.  Thus  blue 
differs  from  red  in  specific  quality.  Bvit  both  have  the 
same  generic  quality — they  are  both  colours,  and,  as  such, 
much  more  different  from  the  sound  of  an  organ  than 
each  is  fi'om  the  other. 

But  we  can  have  different  sensations  of  the  same 
specific  quality — according  to  intensity.  Thus  the  same 
musical  note  played  on  the  same  instrument  may  be 
loud  or  soft,  and  of  different  degrees  of  loudness  or  soft- 
ness. Very  great  varieties  can  occur  in  this  way,  without 
passing  beyond  one  specific  quality.  Sensations  also  differ 
in  duration,  some  lasting  a  longer  time  tlian  others. 

Any  two  sensations  of  touch  or  of  sight,  though  alike 
in  all  other  respects,  may  differ  in  their  extensity  or 
"  spread."  We  may  have  more  or  less  of  a  sensation 
without  difference  in  any  of  the  other  qualities  already  men- 
tioned. But  there  are  other  differences  which  arise  in  this 
connection.  A  sensation  due  to  stimulation  of  one  portion 
of  the  skin  (or  retina)  must  be  slightly  different  from  a 
sensation,  alike  in  specific  quality,  extensity,  and  intensity, 
but  due  to  stimulation  of  some  other  portion  of  the  skin 


60  SENSATION. 

(or  retina).  How  otherwise  slioukl  I  be  able  to  know 
whicli  portion  of  my  skin  has  been  touched  when  I  am  in 
the  dark  ?  The  slight  differences  which  exist  between 
sensations  in  this  respect  are  called  differences  of  local 
sign.  These  differences,  together  with  the  differences  in 
extensity,  contribute  important  factors  in  our  knowledge 
of  space. 

The  numerous  and  varied  sensations  which  we  receive 
help  to  make  it  possible  for  us  to  know  so  many  things, 
ancl  to  think  so  many  thoughts.  But  it  must  once  more 
be  repeated  that  sensations  alone  are  not  knowledge. 
They  are,  as  it  were,  the  raw  material  out  of  which 
knowledge  is  fabricated.  We  shall  deal  with  that  fabri- 
cation in  the  following  chapters. 


Questions  on  Chapter  IV. 

1.  State  clearly  what  you  understand  by  the  term  sensation. 

2.  Briefly  describe  the  piiysical  processes  which  must  take  place 
before  I  can  see  an  object. 

3.  The  image  of  an  object  focused  on  the  retina  of  the  eye  is 
inverted.  How  can  you  explain  the  fact  tiiat  we  see  the  object  the 
right  way  up  ? 

4.  What  are  Hnasfhelic  sen.'tnttons,  and  what  is  their  importance 
for  knowledge  of  the  world  around  us  ? 

5.  Indicate  clearly  the  various  sensations  which  can  be  produced 
by  stimulation  of  the  outer  skin. 

6.  What  are  organic  sensations,  and  what  part  do  they  play  in 
knowledge  ? 

7.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  the  terms  extensity  and  local  sign  as 
applied  to  sensations. 

8.  We  could  know  nothing  if  we  had  never  had  any  sensations  ; 
yet  sensations  give  us  no  knowledge.  Explain  this  apparent 
paradox. 

9.  A  baby  is  in  slight  pain  and  consequently  fretful.  It  hears 
the  sound  of  music  or  sees  a  bright  light,  and  immediately  beams 
with  pleasure.     How  do  you  account  for  the  change  in  its  attitude  ? 


CHAPTER    V. 


Perception. 

Percejdion  is  the  simplest  form  of  knowledge.  It  is 
the  cognition  of  external  objects  on  the  basis  of  certain 
sensations  experienced.  The  objects  so  cognised,  when 
considered  from  the  mental  point  of  view,  i.e.  as  psychical 
constructions,^  are  usually  referred  to  as  jjercep^s.  The 
percept  is  often  defined  as  sensation  +  meaning.  We 
have  certain  sensations,  and  these  mean  to  us  that  there 
is  an  object.  The  only  danger  of  such  definitions  is  that 
they  tend  to  cause  us  to  think  that  the  sensations  arise 
first,  and  then  come  to  mean  something.  In  actual 
experience,  however,  we  come  to  mean  some  object  in  the 
vast  majority  of  cases  without  any  distinct  consciousness 
of  the  sensations  involved.  There  is  one  process,  of  which 
sensations  are,  it  is  true,  an  essential  factor  ;  the  conscious 
result,  however,  is  not  a  knowledge  of  the  sensations,  but 
of  some  object.  We  know  objects  long  before  we  come 
to  know  of  sensations. 

We  have  already  pointed  out  that  the  cortical  excitations 
corresponding  on  the  physical  side  to  the  sensations  are 
complicated  by  other  excitations  immediately  aroused  in 
other  cortical  parts.  To  what  are  these  other  excitations 
due  ?  Some  of  them  are  probably  revivals  of  nervous  im- 
pulses which  were  originally  excited  in  the  same  way  as  the 
excitations  which  occasion  the  sensations.  But  why  should 
they  be  re-excited  without  that  stimulation  of  the  sense- 
organs  which  originally  gave  rise  to  them  ?  The  answer 
is  that  once  at  least  the  two  excitations  were  produced 
together,  by  stimulation  of  two  sense-organs. 

'  See  remarks  on  the  two  meanings  of  ohjecl  (pp.  48,  49). 
61 


62  PERCEPTION. 

When  two  centres  are  excited  together,  they  become 
connected,  paths  for  the  passage  of  nervous  energy  being 
worn  between  them.  If  one  is  later  re-excited,  the  impulse 
spreads  along  the  paths  previously  worn,  and  excites  the 
other  centre  in  some  degree.  We  then  get  one  sensation 
with  a  faint  "  halo  " — a  trace  of  the  other  sensations  which 
once  accompanied  the  first.  We  have  supposed  only  two 
sensations  to  start  with.  In  practice  the  matter  is  more 
complicated.  Suppose  that  I  look  at  a  piece  of  ice  and 
touch  it.  I  get  sight  sensations  and  a  combination  of 
tactual,  muscular,  and  cold  sensations.  On  another 
occasion  I  merely  see  the  ice.  Traces  of  the  other  sensa- 
tions due  to  touching  the  ice  are  aroused,  and  are  fused 
with  the  sight  sensations.  I  may  even  shiver  at  the  sight. 
The  ice  "  looks  cold  "  to  me.  This  process  is  called  by 
Professor  Stout  complication.  We  have  taken  a  very  simple 
case.  But  as  experience  progresses,  a  very  large  number  of 
sensation  traces  become  involved. 

Some  psychologists  would  appear  to  be  satisfied  with 
this  as  an  explanation  of  perception.  In  perception, 
according  to  them,  we  have  one  or  more  sensations  com- 
plicated with  the  revived  traces  of  many  previous  sensa- 
tions. Now  these  revived  ti'aces  must  be  "  sensational  " 
in  character,  and  we  might  almost  call  them  faint 
sensations.  Perception  Avould  thus  be  regai'ded  as  a  sort 
of  combination  of  sensations.  But  after  what  we  have 
said  with  respect  to  sensations,  it  seems  no  more  possible 
for  a  combination  of  sensations  to  constitute  cognition  of 
an  object  than  for  one  sensation  to  do  so.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  revived  traces,  which  are  complicated  with 
the  actual  sensation  or  sensations  experienced,  help  to 
guide  the  process.  What  kind  of  object  we  perceive  is 
partly  determined  by  their  agency.  But  the  existence  of 
those  revived  traces  together  with  the  actual  sensa- 
tions does  not  account  for  perception.  "  A  percept  is 
to  be  thought  of,  not  as  a  mere  combination  of  sensa- 
tions, but  as  the  result  of  a  highly  organised  perceptual 
apparatus.  .  .  ."^  J 

'  Kirkpatrick,  Genetic  Psychology,  pp.  157,  158, 


PEBCEPTION.  63 

Since  there  is  more  consciousness  involved  in  this  cog- 
nition of  an  object  than  can  be  accounted  for  by  a  com- 
bination of  sensations  and  revived  traces  of  other  sensa- 
tions, there  must  be  more  centres  involved  than  those  of 
mere  sensation.  We  must  suppose,  though  we  have  no 
certainty  on  the  point,  that  there  are  special  perceptual 
centres,  and  that  when  these  are  excited,  there  is  that 
peculiar  transformation  which  involves  cognising  objects 
instead  of  being  vaguely  aware  of  mere  sensations.  How 
such  centres  have  developed  we  cannot  say ;  they  are 
probably  largely  innate.  But  it  seems  impossible  to  get  on 
without  supposing  them.  We  must,  however,  remember 
that  this  cognition  of  objects  is  guided  by  the  sensations 
and  sensation-traces.  It  is,  indeed,  stirred  up  by  them.  The 
perceptual  centres  must  be  conceived  as  capable  of  excita- 
tion, under  normal  circumstances,  only  along  nervous  paths 
leading  from  the  sensory  areas  of  the  cortex. 

Probably  these  perceptual  centres  take  some  months  to 
develop  fully  in  the  case  of  human  babies.  But  they  seena 
to  be  already  developed  at  birth  in  the  case  of  some  of  the 
lower  animals.  The  chick  fresh  from  the  egg  begins 
almost  immediately  to  peck  at  seeds,  and  shows  remarkable 
accurac}'  from  the  first. 

Although  perception]  does  not  consist  merely  in  the 
reception  of  certain  sensations  and  the  revival  of  traces  of 
others,  the  importance  of  sensations  as  factors  in  percep- 
tion is  not  diminished.  They  at  any  rate  arouse  and 
guide  our  perceptions.  If  the  perceptual  centres  can  only 
be  excited  through  paths  leading  from  the  sensory  centres, 
and  if  the  nature  of  what  is  perceived  is  determined  by  the 
excitations  taking  place  in  the  sensory  cort-ex,  it  is  obviovis 
that  we  cannot  come  to  know  minutely  and  accurately  all 
the  objects  which  constitute  our  environment  without 
experiencing  a  corresponding  wealth  of  sensations. 

Nature  seems  to  have  provided  for  this  necessity  of  a 
varied  sensational  experience  by  ordaining  that  young 
children  shall  be  constitutionally  active.  They  are  for 
ever  on  the  track  of  new  sensations.  Nobody  can  watch  a 
healthy  infant  without  being  struck  by  its  tendency  to 
handle,  look  at,  roll,  rattle,  bite,  and  otherwise  experiment 


64  PERCEPTION. 

upon,  all  objects  which  come  within  its  reach.  It  even  plays 
with  its  own  toes.  And  in  doing  this  it  acquires  more  and 
more  definite  percepts,  which  enable  it  to  distinguish  its 
own  body  from  external  objects.  In  handling  parts  of 
its  own  body,  it  not  only  receives  the  same  kinds  of  sensa- 
tions which  it  would  receive  were  those  objects  parts  of 
another's  body,  but  it  experiences  sensations  of  touch  and 
movement  in  connection  with  the  parts  handled.  These 
important  additional  sensations  serve  to  mediate  or  guide 
the  perception  of  its  own  body  as  something  quite  different 
from  the  other  objects  with  which  it  plays. 

Our  perceptual  experience  is  tolerably  complete  when 
we  reach  the  adult  stage.  Yet  even  then  we  can  improve 
it  by  continued  activity  in  any  given  field.  Thus  the  tea- 
taster  has  learned  to  distinguish  many  more  varieties  of 
tea  than  the  ordinary  individual,  the  artist  differentiates 
between  many  more  shades  of  colour  than  the  city  clerk, 
the  organist  recognises  more  variations  of  tune  and  pitch 
than  the  moderately  musical  amateur.  Apart,  however, 
from  such  special  aptitudes,  created  by  long  practice  and 
experience,  there  is  a  vast  field  of  common  objects  Avhich 
all  adults  seem  to  perceive  with  something  like  an  average 
amount  of  skill.  As  young  children  can  handle  these 
objects  and  even  talk  about  them  (though  in  much  of 
their  talk  they  may  be  echoing  our  sounds  without  giving 
our  meanings  to  them),  we  are  tempted  to  imagine  that 
they  see,  feel  and  hear  just  as  we  do.  We  forget  that  our 
ability  is  the  result  of  a  long  process  of  development  and 
experience.  And  we  are  inclined  to  minimise  the  im- 
portance for  the  child  of  touching  and  handling  objects  as 
well  as  seeing  them.  We  fall  back  on  words,  which  arouse, 
indeed,  certain  clear  ideas  in  our  own  minds,  but  which 
do  not  necessarily  arouse  the  same  rich  meaning  in  the 
minds  of  the  children.  We  fail  to  understand  that  clear 
and  adequate  ideas  of  objects  cannot  arise  unless  there  has 
been  a  rich  and  varied  supply  of  sensations.  We  are  making 
the  same  kind  of  mistake  as  the  ignorant  man  in  the  street 
who  attempts  to  direct  a  stranger  to  a  desired  destination 
by  talking  glibly  of  many  signs  and  landmarks  with  which 
that  person  is  totally  imfamiliar. 


PERCEPTION.  65 

It  has  already  been  pointed  out  that  the  cognition  of 
solid  objects  involves  tactual  and  muscular  sensations. 
These  must  be  frequent  and  varied.  It  is,  indeed,  through 
motor  experiences  that  the  child  is  able  to  distinguish  both 
himself  on  the  one  hand  and  external  objects  on  the  other. 
He  is  continually  moving,  and  thus  obtaining  muscular 
sensations,  which  he  repeats  over  and  over  again.  But 
other  sensations — of  sight  and  of  touch — break  in  upon 
his  movements.  He  gradually  finds  that  only  with  certain 
movements  xoliich  he  can  control  can  he  get  certain 
sights  and  touches,  and  avoid  others.  In  other  words,  by 
motor  adajjtation  to  his  environment  he  gradually  comes 
to  distinguish  things  which  are  not  so  closely  related  to 
himself  as  are  his  movements.  In  movement,  then,  he 
finds  both  himself  as  an  active  being,  and  external  objects 
as  things  to  which  his  activities  must  be  adapted.  After 
much  experience  of  this  kind,  it  is  possible  to  form 
adequate  notions  of  objects  by  sight  alone.  But  we  must 
not  hurry  the  children  on  to  dependence  on  one  sense 
merely  because  we  can  gather  so  much  by  that  means. 
This  caution  is  being  more  fully  recognised  in  modern 
times.  There  is  an  increasing  demand  for  more  handwork 
in  the  schools,  for  much  more  manipulation  of  objects  by 
the  children. 

Woodwork  has  long  been  a  recognised  part  of  a  boy's 
education.  Now  the  chief  object  of  woodwork  in  schools 
is  not  to  prepare  the  boys  for  carpentry  as  a  trade,  nor 
even  as  a  means  of  accustoming  them  to  use  their  hands 
in  order  that  they  may  be  ready  for  any  kind  of  manual 
work  in  later  life,  though  such  benefits  do  follow  and  are 
not  to  be  despised.  Woodwork,  as  well  as  other  forms  of 
handwork,  such  as  paper-folding,  cardboard-modelling, 
clay- modelling,  and  raffia  work,  is  a  method  in  education. 
It  involves  the  great  psychological  principle  of  learning 
by  doing.  Accordingly,  some  form  of  handwork  should 
be  introduced  into  every  subject  which  is  susceptible 
to  such  treatment.  Thus  in  arithmetic  a  solid  ac- 
quaintance with  number  can  be  acquired  in  connection 
with  various  forms  of  handwork.  Many  forms  of  hand- 
work involve  some  estimation  of  size  and  proportion,  some 

FUND.  PSY.  5 


66  PERCEPTION. 

countiug  of  parts  or  measuring  of  distances.  In  making 
a  paper  box  to  a  required  pattern  there  are  processes  of 
measuring  and  counting  which  develop  a  child's  know- 
ledge of  numbers  and  skill  in  dealing  with  them  in  a  way 
which  is  far  more  valuable  than  set  exercises,  even  when 
those  exercises  are  upon  concrete  things.  For  the  child 
has  a  purpose,  he  wishes  to  make  something,  and  he  feels 
the  utility  of  the  processes  through  which  he  must  go. 

To  take  a  subject  not  often  brought  into  connection 
with  handwork,  history,  especially  on  its  dramatic  side, 
will  give  frequent  opportunities  for  the  introduction 
of  the  child's  own  activity.  "  The  idea  of  acting  liistorical 
scenes  is  gaining  ground  in  schools  and  gives  abundant 
opportunity  for  the  manufacture  of  all  kinds  of  adjuncts 
— crowns,  sceptres,  swords,  bows,  arrows,  targets,  etc. 
Many  other  objects  illustrating  History  may  be  made  by 
the  scholars.  Boats,  carts,  and  various  implements  may 
be  made  illustrative  of  different  periods,  and  dolls  dressed 
in  costume  to  represent  a  Crusader,  a  Canterbury  Pilgrim, 
etc.  One  plan  of  using  handwork  in  education  which  we 
have  studied  and  seen  in  operation,  is  based  entirely  on 
the  historical  idea.  In  this  scheme  the  children,  from 
their  earliest  years,  attempt,  within  their  means,  to 
reproduce  the  early  life  of  mankind.  They  make  their 
own  wigwams,  dig  out  their  own  canoes,  sharpen  their 
stone  implements,  and  weave  their  own  rough  cloth  and 
baskets."  ^  Such  views  of  handwork  make  it  essential 
that  it  should  not  be  considered  as  a  separate  subject, 
with  a  special  instructor,  more  or  less  out  of  touch  with 
the  other  subjects,  but  as  a  vivifying  influence  permeating 
the  whole  curriculum,  making  the  childi'en  active  doers 
instead  of  passive  recipients  of  information. 

Perhaps  we  adults  can  best  realise  the  need  of  doing  as 
an  essential  in  learning  by  considering  the  way  in  which 
we  ourselves  come  to  understand  a  new  complex.  Take 
as  an  example  a  new  game  of  cards.  We  may  have  it 
described  to  us,  we  may  even  watch  others  playing  it; 


^  Manual  Instruction  in  Public  Ekmmtary  Schools,    Board   of 
Education,  pp.  7,  8. 


PERCEPTION.  Q*^ 

l)ut  uutil  we  ourselves  take  a  Land  iu  a  game,  we  do  not 
thoroughly  understand  and  appreciate  it.  As  a  rule,  too, 
we  have  no  desire  to  understand  it  until  we  arrive  at  the 
point  of  actually  taking  part  in  it. 

It  is  found  that  the  children  take  more  pleasure  in  their 
school  work  imder  these  more  active  conditions.  And 
it  is  coming  to  be  more  and  more  recognised  that,  in 
most  cases,  pleasure  is  a  sign  of  healthy  and  profitable 
activity.  Some  educationists,  indeed,  would  condemn 
any  system  of  education  under  which  the  children  do  not 
enjoy  themselves.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  the  pleasure 
derived  by  the  children  taught  according  to  these  modern 
methods  is  not  merely  due  to  the  fact  that  they  are  naturally 
impelled  to  bodily  activity  and  that  indulgence  of  this 
tendency  is  pleasant,  but  it  is  also  to  some  extent  attribut- 
able to  the  fact  that  they  gain  more  knowledge  of  things 
in  this  way  and  are  thus  more  able  to  understand  the 
instruction  imparted  to  them.  When  the  teacher  uses 
words — and  some  lessons  will  always  have  to  be  largely 
oral — these  words  evoke  fuller  and  richer  ideas  in  the 
minds  of  the  children  because  of  the  more  varied 
experience  which  can  be  revived.  Success  in  understand- 
ing is  itself  pleasurable.  Few  children  who  are  able  to 
follow  completely  the  instruction  of  the  teacher  fail  to 
take  pleasure  in  so  doing,  unless,  indeed,  the  teacher  is 
talking  about  what  they  already  know  fairly  well.  We 
are  all  bored  by  hearing  the  old  things  dished  up  again. 
But  we  can  hardly  be  said  to  "  follow  completely  "  under 
such  circumstances.  We  tend  to  divert  our  attention 
elsewhere. 

There  is,  as  we  have  already  noted,  an  area  of  the  cortex 
surrounding  the  fissure  of  Eolando  composed  of  those 
centres  which  are  excited  when  movements  are  made,  and 
which  thus  give  rise  to  kinsesthetic  sensations.  The  area 
in  question  is  very  large,  and  we  are  therefore  justified  in 
assuming  that  movements  and  their  resulting  sensations 
form  a  large  and  important  factor  in  our  mental  life. 
Movement  enters  into  all  perception.  For  in  every  case  the 
excitations  produced  by  the  stimulus  give  rise  by  reflex 
action  to  adjustments  of  the  sense-organ.     For  instance, 


68  PKRCEPTION. 

the  eye  is  turned  to  the  object,  and  the  lens  is  accom- 
modated. In  more  complex  acts  of  perception  there  is 
often  a  series  of  sensation-reflexes  accommodating  the 
sense-organ  to  the  movements  of  the  object.  Thus,  when 
I  follow  a  moving  object,  I  keep  on  turning  my  eye,  and 
perhaps  move  my  head  also.  When  I  grasp  an  object 
with  my  hand,  there  is  a  continued  and  elaborate  series  of 
adjustments  according  to  the  form  of  the  object. 

Now  whether  the  perceptual  centres  are  considered  as 
in  part  constituted  out  of  these  motor  areas  or  not,  they 
are  at  any  rate  intimately  connected  with  them.  In 
the  case  of  the  chict,  we  saw  reason  to  believe  that  the 
perceptual  centres  were  well  developed  at  birth.  It  may 
very  well  be  that  even  in  the  young  child,  though  they  are 
not  so  fully  developed,  they  are  already  partially  formed, 
so  that  the  exercise  of  the  arms  and  hands  in  producing 
motor  sensations  causes  impulses  to  reach  these  perceptual 
centres  also,  exciting  them  to  fuller  activity.  If  this  is 
so,  much  movement  is  necessary  in  order  to  develop 
adequate  perception.  It  is  likely  that  the  motor  areas 
referred  to  are  congenitally  connected  also  with  still  higher 
centres  (which  we  shall  more  fully  consider  later) — those, 
e.g.,  of  speech — and  that  these  higher  centres  are  also 
aided  in  their  development  by  a  large  amount  of  per- 
ceptual movement.  It  is  found,  for  instance,  that 
mentally  defective  children,  one  of  whose  prominent  charac- 
teristics is  poverty  of  speech,  are  greatly  improved  with 
respect  to  their  power  over  language  by  a  course  of  educa- 
tional handwork. 

There  is  a  further  reason  why  movement  gives  us  richer 
percepts.  Every  movement  we  make,  in  addition  to  the 
sensations  to  which  it  gives  rise  by  means  of  the  afferent 
nerves  of  the  kinsesthetic  sense,  also  changes  the  other 
sensations  received  from  the  object.  It  gives  us  new 
percepts  of  the  same  object.  Thus,  when  a  child  moves 
his  hands  over  an  object,  he  not  only  gets  muscular  sensa- 
tions, but  new  sensations  of  contact.  When  he  turns  the 
object  about  in  his  hands  while  looking  at  it,  he  gets  new 
views  of  it.  So  also  when  he  walks  round  a  large  object. 
When  he  shakes  his  rattle,  he  gets  sound  sensations  as 


PERCEPTION.  69 

well  as  the  changing  visual  sensations  which  he  experiences 
if  he  happens  to  be  looking  at  it. 

We  have  already  noted  this  in  speaking  of  motor  adap- 
tation. But  we  were  then  not  so  much  concerned  with  the 
richness  of  perception  as  with  the  fundamental  distinction 
between  self  and  not-self,  between  the  ego  and  the  noti  ego, 
which  arises  in  connection  with  this  adaptation.  Now  we 
are  concerned  to  point  out  that  not  only  is  movement 
necessary  to  give  us  our  first  notions  of  external  objects, 
but  it  is  also  essential  to  the  filling  out  of  those  notions. 
"  When  we  thus  study  the  baby,  the  mental  characteristic 
which  stands  out  most  clearly  is  that,  far  from  recognising 
separate  sensations  and  then  building  them  up  into  more 
and  more  complex  combinations,  his  whole  consciousness 
is  a  vague  sentience.  In  it  are  at  first  no  distinctions  at 
all,  either  of  things  or  even  of  himself  from  his  surround- 
ings. The  whole  course  of  life  is  a  progressive  analysis  of 
that  primary  experience.  This  process  goes  on  throughout 
by  activity."  ^  And  the  first  stage  of  this  activity  is 
perception.  From  this  point  of  view,  then,  "  perceiving  is 
an  act,  a  thing  that  we  do,  always  and  everywhere,  never  a 
mere  passive  sensing  of  a  group  of  passing  sensations  or 
impressions.  It  probably  always  involves  actual  innerva- 
tion of  muscles,  and  indeed  co-ordinated  and  organised,  we 
may  say  unitized,  innervation  of  muscles.  Certainly  on 
the  psychic  side  there  is  an  active  and  more  or  less  unitized 
movement  of  mind,  a  sense  of  inner  activity."^  Or, 
as  Dr.  Nunn  puts  it,  "  the  starting  point  of  the  educa- 
tional process  must  be  the  '  sensori-motor  reaction.'  By 
this  maxim  modern  pedagogy  replaces  the  maxim — the 
inspiration  of  so  much  of  the  teaching  reform  of  the  last 
century — that  the  educational  process  starts  from  the 
child's  sensations."' 

To  sum  up,  we  may  say  that  every  case  of  perception 
involves  a  response  of  the  psycho-physical  organism  to  the 
impression  constituted    by  certain  sensations.      This   re- 

'  Welton,  Psychol 0(1]/  of  Education,  p.  145. 
-  Huey,  The  Psijch()lo<jy  and  P&lugoyy  of  Readiuij,  p.  104. 
^  T.  P.  Nunn  on  "  The  General  Principles  of  Handicraft  Instruc- 
tion"in  The  J  oui^ial  of  Experimental  Psychology,  Nov.  1911,  p.  11*^. 


70  PERCEPTION. 

sponse  must  begin  before  any  cognition  of  the  object  can 
occur  ;  it  is,  indeed,  the  act  of  cognition  itself.  Hence  the 
cognition  of  an  external  object  is  dependent  partly  on  the 
impression  from  without,  partly  on  subjective  factors 
within.  These  subjective  factors  usually  include  revivals 
of  past  experience,  not  necessarily  definite  revivals 
recognised  as  such,  but  more  or  less  dim  traces  of  sensa- 
tional and  other  elements  which  have  been  associated 
with  the  same  kind  of  impression  on  previous  occasions. 
In  every  act  of  ])erception  there  is  thus  a  co-operation  of 
stibjective  and  objective  factors.  And  sometimes  the 
former  play  a  much  more  important  part  in  producing 
the  final  result — the  cognition  of  an  object — than  the  latter. 
Thus,  in  experimenting  with  words,  showing  them, 
slightly  altered,  for  brief  moments,  Pillsbury  found  in  a 
few  cases  "  that  the  suggestion  from  the  association  was 
stronger  than  the  visual  impression  in  determining  the 
word  read."  '  In  one  case,  for  instance,  the  subjective 
factors  were  tampered  with  beforehand  by  calling  out  a 
word  different  from  the  "  word  "  to  be  shown,  but  of  similar 
meaning,  the  subject  of  the  experiment  understanding  fully 
what  was  being  done.  Thus  verbatim  was  shown,  ivord  for 
word  having  been  previously  called  out.  The  latter  called 
up  in  the  mind  of  the  subject  (as  he  declared  afterwards) 
the  word  exactly,  which  he  thus  expected  to  see.  He 
actually  perceived  the  word  over  exact,  and  stated  definitely 
that  he  saw  all  the  letters!  In  another  instance,  after 
many  adverbs  ending  in  -ly  had  been  shown,  the  com- 
bination fellw  appeared  on  the  screen,  and  was  read 
folly,  the  subject  again  declaring  that  he  saw  all  the  letters 
of  the  word  as  read.  "  In  many  cases  it  was  noticed  that 
the  letters  which  were  most  certain  and  of  whose  presence 
the  subject  is  most  confident  were  not  on  the  slide,  but 
were  added  subjectively.  .  .  .  These  facts  show  that  for 
the  individual  the  centrally  excited  sensations  are  just  as 
truly  real  parts  of  the  word  perceived  as  the  peripherally 
excited."  ' 

1  Pillsbury,   "A  Study  in  Apperception,"  American  Journal  oj 
Psychology,  Vol.  8,  pp.  356  If. 


PERCEPTION.  71 

When  the  individual's  percept  does  not  correspond  with 
the  external  object,  we  call  it  an  illusion.  In  actual 
experience  we  get  comparatively  few  of  these  illusions, 
(1)  because  the  subjective  factors  are  continually  being 
controlled  by  the  multifarious  impressions  which  stream 
in  from  without,  and  (2)  because  in  most  cases  the  objects 
cognised  have  been  perceived  many  times  before,  so  that 
the  associated  factors  called  up,  being  the  results  of 
numerous  "  correct  "  or  normal  pei'cepts  in  the  past,  are 
in  harmony  with  the  objective  factors.  But  since  in 
young  children  the  second  of  these  guarantees  of  correct 
perception  is  often  lacking,  it  is  important  that  the  first 
should  have  full  scope.  In  other  words,  we  should 
make  sure  that  the  children  avoid  illusory  percepts  of 
objects  by  allowing  them  to  obtain  "  multifarious  im- 
pressions." This  can  be  done  only  by  permitting  them  to 
handle,  and  otherwise  actively  deal  with,  the  objects  to 
be  perceived. 

So  close  is  the  connection  between  perception  and  move- 
ment that  we  usually  find  the  advance  in  cognition 
implied  in  perceptual  progress  paralleled  by  a  correspond- 
ing advance  in  dexterity.  In  other  words,  knowledge  and 
skill  develop  together — at  any  rate  as  far  as  perception  is 
concerned.  As  a  boy  improves  by  practice  in  cricket,  it 
is  difl&cult  to  separate  his  advance  in  accuracy  of  percep- 
tion from  his  skill  in  making  the  necessaiy  movements. 
A  watchmaker's  skill  in  manipulating  the  fine  mechanism 
of  a  watch  develops  concurrently  with  his  perceptual 
acquaintance  with  it.  As  a  boy  becomes  adept  in  model- 
ling an  object,  he  gains  a  more  complete  knowledge  of  its 
form.  We  find,  indeed,  that  modelling  has  a  good  effect 
on  accuracy  in  drawing. 

It  should  be  observed  that  we  have  only  asserted  that 
perceptual  knowledge  advances  concurrently  with  advance 
in  skill.  If  we  said  that  all  knowledge  was  accompanied 
by  increase  in  manual  dexterity,  the  reader  could  easily 
cite  contradictory  cases.  There  are,  for  instance,  many 
acute  critics  of  sports  who  are  not  very  skilful  them- 
selves. As  a  rule  tliey  have  played  the  game  of  which 
they  know  so  much,  and  have  acquired  some  skill  in  it. 


72  PERCEPTION. 

This,  indeed,  seems  to  be  an  essential  condition  for  a  sound 
knowledge  of  the  game.  One  can  only  know  thoroughly 
by  doing. 

But  there  are  many  expert  performers  who  are  not  equally 
good  judges  of  the  game,  and  who  would  make  very  poor 
critics  ;  and  vice  versa.  To  take  an  example  of  the  latter 
extreme,  Ruskin  shows  in  his  Modern  Painters,  and  in 
other  works,  a  minute  knowledge  of  the  technique  of 
painting.  Tet  he  was  by  no  means  a  highly  talented 
artist.  He  could  and  did  paint.  And  without  this  skiU 
he  would  never  have  possessed  a  foundation  for  his  great 
knowledge  of  art.  But  his  skill  and  perception  having 
run  together  up  to  a  certain  point,  we  find  his  knowledge 
increasing  while  his  skill  lags  behind.  Our  general  state- 
ment is  not  thereby  invalidated.  Skill  and  accuracy 
of  perception  do  run  parallel.  But  there  are  further 
developments  of  knowledge  which  go  on  independently  of 
skill.  Ideas  arise  in  the  course  of  our  developing  skill. 
And  these  may  grow  and  multiply  far  beyond  the  limits  of 
that  perceptual  skill.  What  exactly  we  understand  by  ideas 
will  be  discussed  in  succeeding  chapters  (on  Ideation). 
We  must  take  them  on  trust  for  the  present.  They  begin 
to  arise  very  early  in  life ;  and  they  enrich,  and  render 
more  significant,  the  percepts  which  we  obtain.  This  play 
of  ideas  upon  percepts,  involving  as  it  does  not  only  a 
richer  significance  in  the  percepts,  but  additions  to,  and 
developments  of,  the  ideas,  is  known  as  observation. 

Observation  has  been  defined  by  some  wi'iters  as 
regulated  and  concentrated  perception.  A  kitten  perceives 
a  ball  of  t^vine,  and  continues  for  a  moment  to  regard  it 
casually.  This  is  a  case  of  ordinary  perception.  Now 
suppose  the  ball  of  twine  begins  to  move.  At  once  the 
kitten's  gaze  is  more  fixed ;  its  attention  is  more  fully 
concentrated  on  the  ball,  and  the  direction  of  that 
attention  is  regulated  by  the  movements  of  the  ball. 
The  kitten  would  be  said  by  some  people  to  be  observing 
the  ball.  But  the  "  orderly  conning  over  the  visible  and 
inferior  creature "  which  takes  place  during  a  nature- 
study  or  observation  lesson  in  the  elementary  school  is 
much   more  than  this.     The  kitten  probably   does  little 


PEECBPTION.  73 

more  than  sharpen  his  perceptive  powers.  In  future,  he 
will  be  more  excited  by  the  ball  than  he  was  formerly. 
Yet  he  will  not  know  anything  definite  about  it.  But  the 
observation  practised  by  human  beings  includes  much 
more  than  mere  perception,  however  refined  and  con- 
centrated. 

To  understand  this  distinction,  it  must  be  borne 
in  mind  that  perception  goes  no  farther  than  the  bare 
cognition  of  objects  around  us,  the  affective  and  emo- 
tional states  excited  by  them,  and  the  adaptation  of 
our  movements  in  harmony  with  them.  As  soon  as  a 
child  has  developed  to  any  appx'eciable  extent,  other 
cortical  centres,  of  which  we  shall  speak  later,  come  to 
play  a  part  in  his  perceptual  activities.  Their  activity  is 
now  as  inevitably  aroused  in  connection  with  that  of  the 
perceptual  centres  as  the  activity  of  the  latter  is  evoked  by 
that  of  the  sensory  centres.  Even  a  young  child  does 
more  than  perceive.  He  has  ideas,  which  have  grown  up 
in  connection  with  past  experience.  And  his  perceptual 
activities  are  interwoven  with,  and  modified  by,  these 
ideational  products.  I  look  around  on  the  objects  of  my 
room.  As  soon  as  I  concentrate  my  attention  on  any 
one  of  them,  it  becomes  more  than  a  mere  percept  to  me. 
Even  if  I  begin  to  tell  them  off  in  a  hurry,  there  is  more 
than  the  bare  cognition  of  each  object.  "  That  is  the 
piano,  that  the  clock,  that  the  fender,"  I  say.  It  matters 
not  whether  I  speak  aloud  or  merely  think  these  things. 
There  is  always  something  more  than  mere  perception. 
There  is  thought. 

I  cannot  speak,  or  even  mentally  utter,  such  words  as 
piano,  clock,  fender,  without  going  beyond  the  world  of 
perception.  These  words  correspond  to  ideas.  And  all  my 
clear  perceptions  of  things  are  overlaid  with  such  ideas. 
A  savage  straight  from  the  wilds  of  Africa  could  perceive 
as  much  as  I  in  looking  at  the  piano.  But  he  has  no  idea 
of  its  use ;  nor  can  he  apply  a  distinctive  name  to  it. 
Even  he,  however,  has  his  stock  of  ideas,  his  class-names, 
and  though  this  object  may  puzzle  him,  he  does  not 
merely  regard  it  as  an  external  object ;  he  probably  thinks 
of  it  as  a  funny  thing,  or  as  one  of  those  curious  things 


74  PERCEPTION. 

made  by  the  white  meu.  If  he  begins  to  examine  it  more 
closely,  he  is  able  to  note  the  various  parts  of  which  it  is 
composed,  and  here  his  ideational  activity  is  much  more 
definite.  He  recognises  the  white  keys  as  made  of  ivory, 
the  exterior  as  of  a  wood  not  unlike  some  kinds  which  he 
has  dealt  with,  and  so  on. 

A  human  being  always  brings  into  the  field  of  perception 
a  stock  of  ideas  accompanied  by  names  of  classes  of  things, 
and  with  these  he  mentally  labels  the  objects  with  which  per- 
ception presents  him.  This  occurs  even  in  our  casual  looking 
round  on  objects,  in  so  far  as  we  concentrate  our  attention 
upon  any  of  them.  The  nearest  approach  we  adults  get  to 
mere  perception  is  in  the  case  of  objects  which  we  have  to 
recognise  sufficiently  for  adaptation  of  our  movements 
to  them,  but  to  which  we  do  not  give  the  whole  of  our 
attention.  Thus,  as  we  pass  rapidly  along  the  streets, 
thinking,  it  may  be,  of  the  duties  which  await  us,  we  turn 
and  twist  to  avoid  posts,  and  horses,  and  people,  without 
considering  what  these  things  are.  The  moment  anything 
happens  to  cause  us  to  do  this,  our  attention  is  switched 
from  our  thoughts  of  "  higher  "  things  to  be  turned  upon  the 
objects  which  surround  us,  and  we  begin  to  think  upon 
these,  i.e.  we  begin  to  place  them  in  the  classes  which  we 
have  framed  for  ourselves  in  the  course  of  our  past 
experience.  Thus  I  may  be  jostled  by  another  person, 
and  in  a  moment  I  recognise  that  he  is  ivalking  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  pavement.  "In  College  chapel,"  Mr. 
Winch  tells  us,  "  I  was  not  aware  that  the  stalls  were 
surmounted  by  carved  figures  till  I  had  knocked  my  head 
against  one."  ^ 

We  drop  back,  on  the  other  hand,  from  the  ideational 
to  the  pui'ely  perceptual  level  in  some  cases  where  a 
great  bodily  effort  crowds  out  thought  for  the  moment. 
Thus,  when  I  am  reaching  for  an  object  which  is  very 
difiicult  to  attain,  there  is  often  a  moment  just  before  I 
succeed  during  which  all  my  mental  activity  is  occupied 
with  the  elf  ort  and  adaptation  necessary  to  seize  the  thing. 
During  this  moment,  all  thought  of  the  thing  as  a  definite, 

'  Winch,  Problems  in  Education,  Section  on  Observation. 


PERCEPTION.  75 

recognised  object  which  I  wish  to  obtain  is  suspended ;  it 
is  merely  an  object  to  which  adaptations  of  movement  are 
being  made.  There  is  no  observation,  there  is  mere 
perception. 

The  kind  of  observation  which  we  have  been  describing 
is  practised  a  good  deal  in  tlie  younger  classes  of  schools, 
especially  in  infants'  schools.  It  is  quite  true  that  children 
arrive  even  at  the  infant  school  with  this  form  of  observa- 
tion largely  developed.  Little  childi'en  are  for  ever 
observing  and  stating  to  their  elders  what  they  see, 
"  Look,  mummy,  see  that  nice  gee-gee,"  is  a  type  of  what 
is  continually  going  on.  The  justification  for  systematic 
continuance  of  these  processes  under  the  guidance  of  the 
teacher  is  that  the  nature  of  the  child  is  thereby  en- 
couraged to  still  further  development,  his  ideas  of  the 
objects  of  his  environment  being  increased  and  rendered 
more  definite.  After  all,  the  most  we  can  expect  to  do  as 
educators  is  to  help  on  the  natural  processes  by  providing 
suitable  circumstances.  Hence  we  find  the  infants  in  our 
schools  playing  with  Froebel's  gifts,  singing  or  saying 
meanwhile   what   they  notice   and  what  they  do. 

Such  continuation  and  extension  of  the  children's  activi- 
ties is  not  however  merely  a  continuation  and  extension  of 
what  the  children  would  do  by  themselves.  Left  to  them- 
selves, children  tend  to  notice  only  those  things,  or  aspects 
of  things,  which  they  have  already  noticed.  They  do,  indeed, 
make  some  progress  in  the  acquirement  of  new  knowledge 
of  their  environment.  But  that  knowledge  would  remain 
exceedingly  imperfect  and  incomplete  if  they  depended 
entirely  on  themselves. 

"  Let  us  remember  ....  that  in  the  case  of  the  child 
the  life  of  feeling  and  of  impulse  overwhelms  for  a  long 
time  the  activity  of  the  intellect,  that  the  critical  sub- 
ordination of  his  fancies  to  the  actual  impressions  is  still 
to  a  great  extent  wanting,  allowing  us  to  surmise  that  the 
perception  of  the  child  is  more  emotional  and  personifying 
in  character  than  theoretical  and  observing,  that  what  he 
apprehends  is  borrowed  more  from  the  life  of  feeUng  and 
impulse  and  from  his  own  world  of  fancy  than  from  exact 
analysis    of   the  properties    of   the   things,    grounded   on 


T6  PERCEPTION. 

earlier  perceptions." '  In  short,  he  is  guided  in  his 
observations  by  the  feehngs,  impulses  and  fancies  of  the 
moment  rather  than  by  any  desire  for  accuracy  and  truth. 
Mr.  Eooper,  a  late  Inspector  of  Schools,  tells  us  of  a  child 
who  called  a  vase  of  ferns  a  pot  of  green  feathers.  A 
closer  and  more  continued  observation  would  soon  have 
caused  him  to  change  his  views.  This  closer  observation 
is  secured  by  the  teacher's  questions,  by  the  child  being 
allowed  to  handle  the  object,  and  by  any  exercises  in  con- 
nection with  it — such  as  drawing  or  modelling — which  the 
child  is  induced  to  undertake.  The  teacher  thus  acts  as  a 
guide  to  the  child  in  the  process  of  observation. 

"  Just  the  same  kind  of  thing  holds  good  for  the  adult. 
When  I  wish  to  extend  my  observation  over  a  sphere 
which  until  now  has  been  relatively  unknown  to  me,  e.g. 
over  art  or  farming,  I  obtain  the  help  of  a  specialist 
in  that  sphere  and  get  him  to  impart  to  me  his  general 
lines  of  observation.  Then  I  try  to  go  forward  in  original 
and  new  ways  on  my  own  account.  But  if  I  omit  to 
obtain  this  guidance,  I  shall  probably,  even  with  long  and 
fatiguing  toil,  fail  to  go  as  far  as  the  specialist  would  take 
me  in  half  an  hour."  -  Now  in  the  work  of  early  observa- 
tion, and  with  respect  to  any  given  object,  the  teacher  is 
relatively  a  specialist  when  compared  with  the  child.  By 
his  questions  and  his  remarks  he  can  guide  the  curiosity 
of  the  child  into  fruitful  channels,  so  that  pleasure  and 
profit  may  be  the  result. 

This,  however,  does  not  mean  that  the  teacher  is  to  tell  the 
child  what  he  observes.  To  direct  the  children's  observa- 
tion is  a  very  different  thing  from  telling  them  the  results 
of  one's  own  observation.  In  all  the  object  or  nature-study 
lessons  the  teacher  should  encourage  and  guide  the 
children  by  means  of  questions  to  look  carefully  for  them- 
selves and  say  what  they  see.  Some  of  the  first  "  oral 
composition  "  lessons  may  well  consist  in  examining  a 
picture  and  describing  it.  In  this  way  we  are  not  only 
developing  the  children's  attention,  but  their  powers  of 

1  Meumann,  Vorhsungen,  Band  1.,  pp.  123,  124. 
-  Meumann,  op.  cit..  Band  II.,  p.  19.3. 


PERCEPTION.  *1*1 

thought  and  speech.  These  powers  are  most  intimately 
connected.  Ideas  and  words  develop  in  close  interrelation. 
In  requii'ing  words  from  the  children  we  are  obliging 
them  to  frame  clear  ideas.  "  It  is  hardly  possible  to  over- 
estimate the  extent  to  which  the  child's  mental  growth, 
due  in  the  first  place  to  his  own  powers  of  observation, 
of  retention,  of  discrimination,  and  of  comparison,  is 
stimulated  by  the  hearing  and  use  of  words."  ^ 

From  this  point  of  view,  Mr.  Winch's  criticism  on  the 
object  lessons  in  German  schools,  to  the  effect  that  they 
tend  to  become  langtiage  lessons,"  loses  some  of  its  force. 
It  would,  of  course,  be  fully  justified  if  it  condemned 
talking  about  things  ivithout  seeing  and  handling  them. 
This  would  be  a  return  to  the  errors  of  the  past,  the  words 
without  things,  condemned  by  the  reformers  of  three 
centuries  ago.  In  so  far,  too,  as  the  attention  to  the 
grammatical  form  of  the  language  becomes  so  excessive 
that  there  is  little  observation  of  the  things,  there  is  also 
room  for  Mr.  Winch's  criticism  of  the  lessons  in  question 
as  object  lessons.  This  is  in  fact  his  chief  point.  But  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  in  all  observation  lessons,  the 
expression  of  his  own  observations  by  the  child  is  a  most 
important  pai-t.  It  is  not  only  a  guarantee  that  he  has 
certain  ideas,  but  it  tends  to  fix  and  clarify  those  ideas. 
If  the  teacher  looks  and  tells  the  child  what  he  sees,  there 
is  little,  if  any,  profit  for  the  scholar. 

Observation  of  the  kind  which  we  have  described  is  a 
necessary  part  of  a  young  child's  education.  In  addition 
to  furthering  nature's  own  development,  it  calls  the  child's 
attention  to  many  things  which,  if  left  to  himself,  he  would 
not  notice.  This  is  what  is  called  in  many  educational 
books  "  the  training  of  the  senses."  Such  a  term,  however, 
is  a  misnomer.  The  teacher  does  not  profess  to  improve 
the  sense  organs  and  their  methods  of  functioning.  He 
should,  of  course,  take  account  of  weaknesses  in  these  organs 
in  his  dealings  with  the  children.  For  instance,  a  short- 
sighted boy  will  be  brought  near  the  blackboard ;  a  boy 

^  Mumford,  The  Danm  of  Character,  p.  31. 
-  Winch,  Notes  on  German  Schools. 


78 


PERCEPTION. 


who  is  somewhat  deaf  will  not  be  placed  at  the  back  of  the 
class.  Where  any  medical  treatment  is  necessary,  the 
parents  should  be  notified.  But  no  amount  of  observation 
in  class  will  improve  the  eyes  of  a  myopic  pupil,  or  the 
hearing  of  a  partially  deaf  lad,  or  indeed  any  other  of  the 
senses.  What  these  observation  lessons  set  out  to  provide 
is  an  improvement  in  the  use  made  of  those  senses  which 
exist. 

John  Locke,  the  first  great  English  psychologist,  taught 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  mind  which  is  not  due  to  the 
senses.  This  means  that  all  our  ideas  are  ultimately  due  to 
perception,  some  of  them  directly  shooting  out  of  percep- 
tion, and  others  being  produced  from  these.  Now  obser- 
vation is  the  process  whereby  the  fundamental  ideational 
shoots  are  developed  from  pei'ceptiou.  It  is,  then,  a  pro- 
cess of  gaining  and  refining  ideas  in  connection  with  per- 
ception. It  is  the  enriching  of  "  mere "  perception  by  ideas. 
In  this  process  we  use  the  ideas  already  obtained  upon 
fresh  material,  refining  those  ideas  and  often  obtaining  new 
ones.  Such  observation  leaves  its  ideational  traces  in 
the  mind,  and  thus  serves  as  a  basis  for  higher  intellectual 
development.  It  is,  indeed,  a  necessary  preliminary  to  a 
vigorous  life  of  thought.  We  may  say  approximately  that 
the  higher  processes  of  thought  bear  the  same  relation  to 
observation  as  this  does  to  mere  perception,  or  as  percep- 
tion does  to  sensation. 

But  we  can  carry  on  exercises  in  the  observation  of 
common  things  too  far  and  into  too  great  detail.  During 
a  craze  for  observation  not  long  ago,  it  was  pointed  out 
that  many  of  us  have  never  observed  how  many  buttons 
we  haA^e  on  our  waistcoats,  how  many  steps  we  go  up  day 
by  day  to  reach  our  rooms,  which  arm  we  put  into  our 
coats  first  when  dressing  ourselves,  and  such-like  details. 
These  are  some  of  the  things  which  remain  with  most  of 
us  on  the  purely  perceptual  level.  And  rightly  so !  For 
there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  applying  thought  to  them. 
The  perceptions  can  take  care  of  themselves.  If  an  extra 
button  did  suddenly  spring  into  being  on  our  waistcoats, 
we  should  soon  begin  to  notice  it.  If  there  were  one  step 
less  on  the  flight  of  stairs,  we  should  discover  ovirselves 


PERCEPTION.  79 

pawing  the  air  in  search  of  the  missing  part.  If  somebody 
holds  the  "  wrong  "  armhole  to  us  first,  we  are  at  once  aware 
of  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation.  It  is,  indeed,  only 
when  our  habitual  adaptations  to  our  environment  are 
disturbed  by  sometliiug  new — either  really  new  or  the  old 
presented  in  a  new  light — that  the  necessity  for  thought 
arises. 

This  brings  us  to  a  most  important  point.  Observation 
beyond  a  certain  stage,  if  witliotd  definite  purpose,  is  use- 
less. It  may,  indeed,  be  harmful.  For  it  may  arrest  the 
advance  of  the  mind  to  higher  things.  "  How  odd  it  is 
that  anyone  should  not  see  that  all  observation  must  be 
for  or  against  some  view  if  it  is  to  be  of  any  service !  " 
(Darwin.)  Here  a  higher  type  of  observation  is  spoken 
of.  When  the  more  elementary  kind  has  reached  a  certain 
level,  and  in  so  doing  has  developed  our  powers  of  thought, 
it  is  time  for  these  last  to  become  the  masters  of  the  situa- 
tion. We  now  observe  in  order  to  work  out,  or  add  to, 
some  ideas  :  in  other  words,  to  seek  some  result  of  Avhich 
we  have  already  a  more  or  less  vague  notion.  The  boy 
who  is  set  to  analyse  a  salt  is  at  this  stage.  He  watches 
narrowly  the  things  that  happen  in  order  to  decide  in  what 
class  to  place  his  substance.  As  he  goes  on,  his  ideas  as 
to  what  he  is  arriving  at  become  more  and  more  definite, 
and  specify  and  direct  his  observations  still  more  completely. 

It  is  not  a  question  of  observing  all  that  can  be 
noticed,  but  of  noticing  certain  things.  The  more  ideas  he 
has,  the  more  effective  are  his  observations.  Thisjmay  be 
stated  as  a  general  truth.  The  highest  kind  of  observa- 
tion is  not  only  dependent  on,  but  governed  by,  knowledge. 
We  must  know  what  to  look  for.  Man  sielit  nur  vms  man 
weiss.^  This  applies  of  course  also,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  to  the  lower  type  of  observation  which  has  just  been 
considered.  The  words  which  are  used  represent  ideas, 
and  these  are  forms  of  knowledge  acquired  by  previous 

1  "  We  see  only  what  we  know."  This  does  not,  of  course,  mean 
that  we  know  everything  before  looking,  but  that  we  can  only 
gain  V)y  our  looking  on  tiie  basis  of  our  previous  knowledge.  (If  we 
have  710  previous  knowledge,  we  can  only  "gape"  at  the  thing 
presented. ) 


80  PERCEPTION. 

experience.  Unless  a  child  has  some  ideas  of  colour,  form, 
hardness,  etc.,  he  cannot  take  part  even  in  a  simple  object 
lesson  on  coal.  But  the  truth  is  particularly  evident  in 
connection  with  the  higher  types  of  observation.  For  in 
these  ideas  take  the  lead  and  govern  the  ivhole  process.  We 
must  not  only  tnow  what  to  look  for,  hut  what  to  ignore. 

Professor  Adams  in  one  of  his  lectures  gave  an  interest- 
ing illustration,  A  young  doctor  met  a  case  of  small-pox, 
but,  even  after  careful  scrutiny,  was  uncertain  about  it, 
never  having  met  a  case  in  these  days  of  comparative 
immunity  from  the  disease.  He  called  in  a  colleague,  who 
was  no  more  certain.  Finally  the  two  took  their  patient  in 
a  cab  to  a  specialist  on  such  diseases.  It  was  twilight,  and 
the  hall  of  the  specialist's  house  was  dimly  illuminated. 
The  famous  practician,  who  was,  by  the  way,  somewhat 
short-sighted,  came  into  the  hall,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
man,  and  without  any  further  examination  called  out : 
"  Take  him  away ;  small-pox  !  "  He  knew  just  %vhat  to 
look  for. 

Such  facts  as  these  should  be  in  the  mind  of  the  teacher 
when  reflecting  on  the  nature-study  lessons  of  the  upper 
school.  He  has  gradually  to  transform  observation  from 
an  indiscriminate  noticing  of  this  and  that  point,  to  "an 
orderly  conning  over  the  visible  and  inferior  creature," 
aided  by  ideas  already  possessed,  and  directed  by  a  pur- 
pose connected  wdth  those  ideas,  i.e.  the  desire  or  curiosity 
to  add  to  them.  Too  often  the  observation  lesson  deterio- 
rates into  a  number  of  vague  and  random  replies  by  the 
boys,  to  a  number  of  equally  vague  and  random  questions 
by  the  teacher.  Instead  of  this,  the  early  part  of  the 
lesson  should  be  so  arranged  that  a  definite  purpose  springs 
up,  is  clearly  stated,  and  Avorks  itself  out  through  the 
succeeding  observations.  Thus,  suppose  the  lesson  is  on  a 
fish.  The  children  know  that  this  animal  lives  in  water. 
The  teacher, -therefore,  can  propose  that  the  pupils  should 
note  all  those  properties  of  the  fish  which  enable  it  to  live 
in  water.  The  more  he  can  get  them  really  curious  to  find 
out  these  things,  the  more  successful  his  lesson  is  likely  to 
be.  For  the  purpose  must  be  theirs,  not  merely  one  in  his 
mind. 


PERCEPTION.  81 

'  Unless  a  real,  live  purpose  is  stirred  in  their  minds, 
the  lesson  will  be  dull  and  unprofitable.  Even  if  the  same 
observations  are  attempted  as  in  the  case  of  the  lesson 
with  a  definite  purpose,  they  will  not  be  undertaken  with 
the  same  pleasure  and  profit.  But  Avhen  the  children 
are  really  in  quest  of  something,  these  same  observations 
will  be  suffused  with  meaning  at  every  stage.  Thus  the 
breathing  apparatus  of  the  fish  will  be  examined  not 
merely  because  the  teacher  requires  it  to  be  observed,  but 
because  the  children  want  to  find  out  how  it  enables  the 
fish  to  breathe  in  water.  And  the  same  piu-pose  will  infuse 
interest  into  the  examination  of  its  means  of  locomotion, 
its  colour,  shape,  and  covering.  In  such  processes  as  this, 
reasoning  will  be  developed.  Indeed,  the  highest  type  of 
observation  lesson  will  be  a  species  of  scientific  investiga- 
tion. But  the  nature  of  reasoning  must  be  reserved  for 
fuller  consideration  in  a  separate  chapter.^ 

Reverting  to  the  case  of  the  student  analysing  his  salt, 
we  note  that  the  purposeful  obsei-vation  in  this  case  involves 
not  merely  an  examination  of  the  thing  as  it  is,  but  many 
modifications  of  it  in  order  to  find  out  what  mere  scrutiny 
would  never  discover.  This  more  active  type  of  observa- 
tion is  usually  called  experiment.  It  is  performed  in  many 
science  lessons ;  and,  once  again,  the  pupils  themselves 
should  participate  to  the  full  in  it. 

Though  observation  involves  higher  or  ideational  pro- 
cesses, we  have  begun  its  consideration  in  this  chapter 
because  it  depends  upon,  and  takes  its  rise  in,  perception. 
Most  of  the  lower  animals  seem  to  remain  for  ever  in 
the  world  of  perception.  But  in  the  human  being,  higher 
centres  are  aroused  very  early  in  life,  and  the  activity  of 
these  is  correlated  with  those  mental  processes  which  we 
have  called  ideas.  "  Gradually,  ....  he  acquires  ideas  of 
things,  their  sizes  and  shapes,  and  grouping  them  together 
he  begins  to  form  some  conception  of  the  outer  world  and 
of  the  various  'things'  which  he  sees  around  him."* 
With  the  nature  and  development  of  these  conceptions  or 

'  Ch.  IX.     See  especially  pp.  169-172. 

*  Mumford,  The  Dawn  of  Character,  p.  30. 

FUND.  PsY.  () 


82  PEBCEPTION. 

ideas  we  shall  deal  iu  tlie  chapters  on  Ideation.  In  other 
words,  we  shall  study  the  process  of  observation  on  its 
upper  or  ideational,  as  distinguished  f i*oni  its  lower  or  per- 
ceptual, side. 

But  before  doing  this,  it  is  necessary  to  study  some 
important  results  of  perception — those  revivals  of  percep- 
tual experience  which  are  known  as  images. 


Questions  on  Chapter  V. 

1.  State  clearly  what  is  meant  by  perception.  What  is  its  rela- 
tion to  sensation  ? 

2.  Why  is  it  necessary  for  children  to  handle  the  things  which 
they  deal  with  ? 

3.  What  is  observation  ?  Distinguish  a  higher  and  a  lower  kind, 
giving  examples. 

4.  What  is  the  object  of  nature  study  as  a  subject  in  the  school 
curriculum  ?  Why  should  it  develop  into  natural  science  as  the  pupil 
grows  older  ? 

5.  Illustrate  the  truth  that  perception  and  skill  develop  together. 

6.  Why  should  a  child  be  required  to  state  clearly  what  he  sees 
during  an  observation  lesson  ? 

7.  What  is  meant  by  "  the  training  of  the  senses  "  ? 

8.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  statement  that  handwork  is 
a  method  rather  than  a  subject  ?  In  accordance  with  j'our  answer 
specify  the  place  of  handwork  in  the  Time  Table  of  the  School. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


Imagination. 

When  a  lighted  torch,  is  swung  round  rapidly,  it  appears 
like  a  circle  of  flame.  The  nei*ve  impulses  produced  by  one 
position  of  the  torch  persist  some  time  after  the  flame  has 
left  that  position,  and  if  the  torch  is  moving  rapidly,  it 
will  get  back  a  second  time  to  a  given  position  before  the 
nervous  impulses  due  to  its  last  presence  in  that  position 
have  ceased.  This  of  course  applies  to  every  point  round 
the  circle  described  by  the  torch.  Such  an  experience 
brings  home  to  us  a  fact  which  we  might  otherwise  ignore, 
viz.  that  nervous  excitations,  once  begun,  go  on  a  little 
longer  than  the  stimuli  which  pi'oduce  them.  This  is 
particularly  the  case  when  light  is  the  stimulus.  As  the 
nervous  excitations  in  the  cortex  are  thus  continued,  their 
mental  concomitants — the  sensations — persist  also.  And 
the  mental  object  elaborated  on  the  basis  of  sensation  may 
thus  exist  for  a  short  time  during  which  there  is  no  ex- 
ternal object  to  correspond  to  it.  Unless  we  knew  from 
other  considerations  (having  seen,  for  instance,  that 
only  one  torch  was  employed  at  the  beginning  and  that 
there  was  still  one  at  the  end,  when  the  rate  of  revolu- 
tion slackened),  we  should  see  and  believe  in  a  circle  of 
light. 

Such  persistence  of  a  percept  is  called  an  after-image. 
In  the  case  of  visual  after-images,  we  often  notice  a 
peculiar  change  supervening.  What  was  light  becomes 
dark,  and  vice  versa.  What  was  blue  becomes  yellow,  and 
vice  versa.     What  was  red  becomes  green,  and  vice  versa. 

83 


84  IMAGINATION. 

Many  will  call  to  mind  an  advertisement  of  Pears'  Soap 
depending  on  these  facts.  When  the  image  has  changed 
in  this  way,  it  is  called  a  negative  after-image.  The 
alteration  is  probably  due  to  changes  in  the  nervous  tissue. 
These  changes  go  on  independently  of  our  attention. 
After  looking  at  the  flame  of  my  lamp  I  cannot  avoid  get- 
ting a  dark  blur  which  prevents  me  for  a  time  from  seeing 
clearly  any  other  objects  at  which  I  choose  to  look. 

But  I  can  also,  immediately  after  looking  at  an  object, 
call  up  in  my  mind  by  an  effort  a  vivid  representation  of 
it  approximately  just  like  it  appeared.  This  is  not  due  to 
the  persistence  of  the  original  sensations,  but  to  a  definite 
act  of  attention.  As  soon  as  I  give  up  my  effort,  the 
image  goes.  Such  an  image  is  called  a  primary  memory- 
image. 

When  I  have  attended  carefully  to  an  object,  or  when  I 
have  seen  it  a  nu^^ber  of  times,  and  paid  some  attention 
to  it,  I  can  often  recall  a  more  or  less  imperfect  repre- 
sentation of  it,  even  after  a  considerable  interval.  This  is 
usually  called  by  the  single  word  image.  It  is  probably 
due  to  the  fact  that  some  of  the  same  nervous  centres  of 
the  cortex  are  re-excited.  The  whole  chain  of  impulses 
of  course  is  not  the  same,  for  the  sense-organ  is  not 
stimulated  by  the  presence  of  the  external  object.  The 
excitation  of  some  of  the  same  nervous  centres  is  set 
up  by  impulses  coming  from  other  centres.  (We  shall 
see  how  these  impulses  arise  in  the  chapter  on  Memory.) 
It  is  possible,  therefore,  to  include  these  other  centres, 
or  some  of  them,  with  those  of  the  original  centres  which 
are  re-excited,  and  to  speak  of  the  new  whole  thus 
constituted  as  a  centre  of  imagery,  or  as  a  representative 
centre. 

An  image  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  a  revived  percept. 
We  may  adopt  the  term,  so  long  as  we  remember  that  there 
are  important  differences  between  image  and  percept. 
We  are  seldom  confused  between  the  two.  We  know 
wlien  we  have  a  percept,  and  when  we  have  only  an  image. 
If  images  were  practically  as  good  as  percepts,  we  could 
live  over  the  best  moments  of  our  lives  again  and  again, 
and  with  almost  the  same   enjoyment.      Many  of  us  do 


IMAGINATION.  85 

get  considerable  pleasure  by  calling  up  images.  But 
probably  none  would  agree  that  they  approach  closely  to 
the  reality  of  the  percepts. 

Images  lack  the  intensity  of  percepts.  They  are  less 
distinct,  being  blurred  and  indefinite,  and  more  or  less 
wanting  in  many  of  the  details  which,  belong  to  perceptual 
experience. 

Unlike  percepts,  they  are  independent  of  our  bodily 
movements  ;  I  can  close  my  eyes  or  turn  my  head,  yet  still 
retain  my  image. 

Percepts  are  always  surrounded  by  a  "  halo "  of 
muscular  and  organic  sensations  which  occur  with  them. 
Thus  when  I  fixate  an  object  with  my  eye,  there  are  not 
only  the  sight  sensations  but  vague  kiusesthetic  impres- 
sions, due  to  the  movements  in  and  around  the  eye,  and 
more  or  less  fused  with  the  organic  sensations.  The 
image,  however,  is  disconnected  with  such  sensations, 
although  some  are  always  present  in  bur  total  sensational 
experience  of  the  moment. 

Images  are  less  stable  than  percepts,  "  flowing  and 
flickering,"  as  Dr.  Ward  says,  like  the  gas-jets  at  a  fete. 

Lastly,  the  percept  comes  as  a  sudden  "  happening,"  on 
account  of  the  physical  stimulus  which  initiates  it ;  the 
image  in  most  cases  develops  gradually. 

The  word  image  in  psychology  is  not  reserved  for  re- 
vivals involving  sensory  elements  of  sight  alone.  It  refers 
to  the  revival,  however  partial  or  imperfect,  of  any  per- 
ceptual experience.  Some  individuals,  indeed,  have  very 
little  visual  imagery,  and  depend  largely  on  revivals  of 
elements  from  the  other  senses. 

The  power  to  visualise  varies  very  much.  Some  can 
recall  things  with  great  fidelity  and  with  all  their  colours. 
Others  get  only  a  more  or  less  hazy  "  black  and  white  " 
reproduction.  Others  again  get  hardly  anything  worth 
the  name  of  a  visual  image.  Children  as  a  rule  visualise 
better  than  adults.  As  men  grow  old  and  depend  more 
on  thought  (of  which  we  shall  speak  later),  there  is 
usually  a  decline  in  their  powers  of  visualising.  Some 
famous  thinkers  have  confessed  to  great  poverty  in  this 
respect. 


86  IMAGINATION, 

There  is  also  considerable  variety  with  respect  to  the 
hind  of  imagery  habitually  employed.  Not  very  long  ago 
it  was  thought  that  in  remembering  the  same  objects  we 
all  had  the  same  kinds  of  images.  Thus,  it  was  thought 
that  if  a  number  of  people  saw  a  new  word,  attempted  to 
learn  its  spelling  and  then  later  endeavoured  to  recall  that 
spelling,  they  would  all  have  the  same  kind  of  images  to 
helj)  them.  It  is  only  in  recent  times  that  we  have  come 
to  see  the  falsity  of  this.  When  we  interrogate  people 
who  can  introspect,  we  find  wide  differences.  Some 
remember  chiefly  by  reviving  a  visual  image  of  the  word. 
Some  depend  largely  on  auditory  images,  and  prefer,  when 
learning,  to  spell  the  word,  so  that  their  auditory  sense  is 
active.  Others,  again,  prefer  to  spell  the  word,  not  so  much 
for  the  sounds  which  they  hear  as  for  the  motor  sensations 
derived  from  the  organs  of  speech.  Some  rely  on  a  com- 
bination of  imagery  from  two  or  more  senses.  Thus  many 
would  get  images  derived  from  both  the  auditory  and 
muscular  senses.  If  the  word  is  written  down  as  a  further 
means  of  fixing  it,  this  may  impress  still  more  the  visual 
form,  but  at  the  same  time  it  awakens  the  muscular  sen- 
sations involved  in  writing. 

Most  of  us  dejDend  largely  on  several  senses.  But  often 
one  sense  is  predominant.  We  recall  more  satisfactory 
images  in  this  sense  than  in  the  others.  Accordingly, 
people  have  been  classified  into — (I)  visiles,  those  obtaining 
and  depending  largely  upon  visual  images,  (2)  audiles, 
those  depending  largely  on  images  derived  from  the 
sense  of  hearing,  (3)  motiles,  those  depending  largely  on 
motor  images.  These  are  the  chief  varieties.  Motiles 
usually  depend  also  on  touch,  and  are  therefore  also 
tactiles.  All  blind  persons  belong  largely  to  this  type, 
while  the  images  of  a  blind-deaf  person  like  Laura  Bridg- 
man  or  Hellen  Keller  must  be  almost  entirely  of  this 
nature.  The  sense  of  smell,  however,  in  a  few  persons, 
has  been  known  to  furnish  a  rich  variety  of  imagery. 
These  might  be  called  olfactives.  Zola,  the  great  French 
novelist,  was  of  this  type.  Almost  every  object  had  for 
him  its  distinctive  smell.  Towns,  streets,  and  even  the 
seasons  of  the  year  were  distinguished  in  his  mind   by 


IMAGINATION.  87 

theii'  smells,  aud  the  images  of  these  smells  could  be 
revived  by  him  with  great  vividness  and  distinctness.^ 

Richness  of  imagery  in  connection  with  a  given  sense 
must  imply  highly  developed  perception  in  that  sphere, 
since  our  images  are  all  derived  from  perceptual 
experience.  But  the  reverse  is  not  true.  Fine  perception 
is  not  always  found  to  produce  fine  imagery.  There  are 
many  persons,  for  instance,  who  see  things  very  well 
and  note  all  their  details  with  great  accuracy  and  swift- 
ness, yet  cannot  obtain  good  visual  images  afterwards. 

These  facts  with  respect  to  imagery  are  of  great  sig- 
nificance to  the  teacher.  He  should  be  ever  on  the  alert 
in  his  teaching  to  appeal  to  as  many  senses  as  possible. 
This  is  necessary,  not  only  because  one  sense  helps 
another,  or  because,  if  one  fails,  another  may  be  success- 
ful, but  because  the  pupils  are  of  several  types.  In  the 
majority,  visual  imagery  takes  the  lead.  But  some  will 
be  audiles,  and  others  motiles  and  tactiles.  Thus,  in  in- 
troducing a  new  word  (e.g.  oxygen  in  a  science  lesson), 
the  wise  teacher  will  not  only  say  it  himself,  but  will 
write  it  on  the  blackboard,  so  that  the  pupils  see  it.  He 
may  then  cause  them  to  repeat  it  after  him,  so  that  they 
may  both  hear  it  again  and  get  the  muscular  sensations 
involved  in  pronouncing  it.  He  may  go  still  further, 
letting  the  pupils  spell  the  word,  and  even  write  it  for 
themselves. 

This  is  a  good  example  to  illustrate  the  fact  that  many 
teachers  are  successful  up  to  a  certain  point  without  any 
knowledge  of  psychology.  Such  methods  of  fixing  a  new 
name  in  the  children's  minds  are  used  by  many  teachers 
because  they  have  felt  the  need  of  them  in  their  own  case, 
or  because  they  have  picked  them  up  from  others  (often 
quite  subconsciously),  and  have  realised  their  utility.  But 
when  once  a  teacher  sees  the  reasons  for  these  practices, 

'  Recent  researches  seem  to  point  to  the  fact  that  usually  in  a 
given  individual  there  is  not  a  very  great  difference  between  the 
richness  of  imagery  derived  from  one  sense  and  that  derived  from 
another.  Many  seem  to  have  good  imagery  all  round  ;  and  some, 
especially  those  who  do  much  conceptual  work,  seem  to  have  poor 
imagery  throughout,  except,  perhaps,  for  words. 


88  IMAGINATION. 

he  will  not  only  employ  them  more  systematically,  but  he 
will  be  able  to  apply  the  same  principles  to  other  portions 
of  his  teaching.  However  good  his  rule-of-thumb  or 
intuitive  methods  may  be,  he  will  further  improve  them 
if  he  understands  their  raison  d'etre.  His  teaching  will 
become  more  intelligent. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  whenever  the  pupils  are  called  upon 
to  do  anything,  whether  in  speech,  writing,  or  spelling, 
they  not  only  get  further  sensations  (muscular)  which  may 
be  of  especial  value  to  motiles,  as  well  as  of  some  assistance 
to  the  others,  but  the  teacher  is  sure  of  their  attention — 
at  any  rate  while  they  are  doing  the  thing  in  question. 
When  I  merely  say  a  word  to  a  boy,  he  may  be  looking  at 
me,  but  I  can  never  be  sure  how  much  attention  he  is 
paying.  If  I  get  him  to  repeat  it,  I  know  that  he  must 
be  attentive ;  for  the  repetition  requires  considerable  atten- 
tion on  his  part.  Hence  these  practices  are  not  only  valu- 
able for  the  reasons  already  stated,  but  as  a  means  of 
retaining  or  recalling  attention.  When  a  boy's  attention 
wanders,  the  unskilful  and  tactless  teacher  will  begin  to 
"  nag,"  and  will  possibly  waste  one  minute  in  doing  so 
(1  minute  for  40  boys  =  40  minutes  in  all).  The  skilful 
and  intelhgent  teacher  will  ask  that  boy  to  do  or  say  some- 
thing connected  with  the  matter  in  hand,  thus  regaining 
his  attention  without  any  real  interruption  to  the  lesson. 

The  word  imagination  may  be  used  in  psychology  to 
designate  all  production  of  images.  In  ordinary  speech  the 
word  is  not  usually  employed  in  referring  to  such  cases  as 
we  have  been  deahng  with.  It  is  resei-ved  for  the  production 
of  new  combinations,  which  seem  to  go  beyond  the  experience 
of  the  individual.  Thus,  if  I  call  up  an  image  of  a  house  I 
have  seen,  the  ordinary  person  would  not  say  that  I  have 
gone  through  a  process  of  imagination.  He  would  say 
that  I  have  merely  remembered  what  the  house  was  like. 
But  if  I  figure  to  myself  a  new  type  of  house  which,  as  far 
as  I  know,  has  never  yet  been  built,  my  mental  process 
would  be  allowed  by  everyone — psychologist  or  ordinaiy 
individual — to  be  a  case  of  imagination. 

The  ordinary  person  uses  the  word  "  imagination  "  in 
ojijjosition  to  the   memory    of  things    actually  perceived. 


IMAGINATION.  89 

Wlieu  I  describe  a  house  wLicli  I  have  seen,  he  will  say 
that  I  have  not  imagined  it.  When  I  describe  a  house 
which  I  have  never  seen  or  heard  of,  he  will  say  that  I 
have  imagined  it.  Even  the  psychologist  who  usually 
employs  the  noun  "  imagination  "  to  cover  both  kinds  of 
process  is  often  tempted  to  use  a  diiferent  word  in  each 
case  for  the  verb.  He  prefers  to  say  that  I  image  a  house 
which  I  have  seen,  whereas  I  imagine  a  house  which  I 
have  not  seen  or  heard  of. 

We  shall  find  that  all  cases  of  imagery,  whether  of 
things  actually  perceived  beforehand  or  of  things  appa- 
rently invented  by  us,  are  dependent  on  the  stock  of 
images  which  we  have  acquired  in  perception.  Hence  the 
justification  of  including  all  under  the  general  term 
imagination.  To  distinguish  the  two  kinds  of  cases,  we 
shall  speak  of  reproductive  imagination  when  percepts  are 
revived  approximately  as  they  occiirred,  and  of  productive 
or  constructive  iinagination  when  considerable  changes  are 
made,  so  that  the  resulting  images  are  more  or  less  unlike 
anything  already  experienced. 

Productive  imagination  is  of  two  kinds.  I  may  frame 
an  image  of  something  which  I  have  never  perceived 
either  (1)  guided  by  another  person's  description,  or 
(2)  without  any  other  person's  guidance.  In  the  former 
case,  I  may  be  said  to  exercise  interpretative  imagination  ; 
in  the  latter,  originative  imagination.  Professor  Sully 
calls  the  two  recep)tive  and  creative  respectively. 

Interpretative  imagination  is  continually  being  required, 
both  in  school  and  in  the  communications  of  everyday  life. 
The  good  teacher  is  frequently  engaged  in  "  picturing-out  " 
to  the  boys  ;  in  other  words,  he  describes  to  them  things 
which  they  have  never  seen.  True,  whenever  he  can,  he 
shows  pictures,  or  models,  or  specimens.  In  doing  this 
he  is  not  only  making  his  teaching  of  the  particular 
subject  more  thorough,  but  he  is  helping  to  lay  that  solid 
foundation  of  perception  on  which  future  imagination  can 
be  raised.  But  very  early  in  the  child's  life  it  becomes 
necessary  to  make  use  of  the  perceptual  experience  already 
obtained.  No  individual  can  perceive  everything.  If  he 
is  to  understand  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  he  must  use 


90  IMAGINATION. 

his  imagination  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  his  perceptual 
experience.  His  reading-books  are  full  of  descriptions 
and  narratives  which  can  only  appeal  to  him  if  he  is  able 
to  arouse  in  his  mind  images  of  his  own  past  experience. 

I  get  tea  which  is  labelled  with  the  name  Ceylon.  I 
have  never  been  there,  and  probably  shall  never  see  the 
island.  But  I  read  and  hear  descriptions  of  the  place, 
and  can  frame  a  more  or  less  satisfactory  image  of  what 
it  is  like.  Some  people  who  have  read  descriptions  of 
places  which  they  have  afterwards  visited  have  declared 
that  the  places  corresponded  very  closely  to  the  images 
which  they  had  already  fonned.  But  we  need  not  go  to 
exceptional  cases  of  this  kind.  I  describe  to  a  boy  the 
way  he  is  to  take  to  get  to  a  certain  place.  Following  my 
words,  he  constnicts  for  himself  an  image,  somewhat 
schematic  it  mav  be,  of  the  whole  route. 

In  order  to  understand  this  process  of  interpretative 
imagination,  let  us  examine  an  instance  still  more  carefully. 
Suppose  that  I  wish  to  tell  a  boy  what  the  Crystal 
Palace  is  like,  and  suppose  that  I  have  no  picture  to  show 
him.  I  know  that  he  has  seen  Buckingham  Palace, 
Nelson's  Column,  and  the  Palm  House  at  Kew.  I  refer 
to  all  three,  and  he  calls  up  images  of  them.  I  now  lead 
him  to  combine  elements  of  each,  and  thus  to  form  a  new 
image. 

Buckingham  Palace  will  give  approximately  the  size, 
the  Palm  House  will  contribute  the  kind  of  material  used 
in  construction,  and  Nelson's  Column  will  give  some  idea 
of  the  two  towers  at  the  extremities.  Thus  I  may  say 
to  the  boy :  "  The  Crystal  Palace  is  a  big  building  like 
Buckingham  Palace,  but  it  is  made  of  glass,  like  the  Palm 
House  at  Kew.  At  each  of  the  two  ends  is  a  round  tower 
like  Nelson's  Column,  but  made  of  glass,  and  with  no 
statue  on  the  top." 

The  boy  is  then  able  to  frame  some  sort  of  image  of  a 
thing  which  he  has  never  seen.  If  I  go  on  with  my 
description,  I  may  make  his  mental  picture  more  like  the 
original  by  calling  up  images  of  other  things  which  he 
has  seen,  and  incorporating  parts  of  them  in  the  new 
construction.     Thus  I  may  refer  to  the  roof  of  the  Central 


IMAGINATION.  91 

Transept,  and  liken  it  to  tliat  of  St.  Paucras  Railway 
Station. 

All  such  description  involves  the  calling  up  of  images  of 
things  which  the  boy  has  perceived,  the  selection  of  certain 
elements  from  those  images,  and  the  union  of  those 
elements  into  a  new  composite  image  which,  in  its  entirety, 
corresponds  to  nothing  which  the  boy  has  seen.  It  is 
not,  of  course,  maintained  that  these  selections  and  com- 
binations are  separate  processes  definitely  experienced  as 
such  by  the  boy.  They  go  on,  in  more  or  less  intimate 
connection,  as  my  description  proceeds. 

The  chief  point  to  be  noted  is  that  I  am  completely 
dependent  on  what  the  boy  has  perceived.  If  I  begin  to 
use  words  which,  though  they  call  up  images  in  my  mind,  do 
not  do  so  in  his,  I  fail  to  make  myself  understood.  Either 
the  boy  calls  up  irrelevant  images  which  contribute  false 
elements,  or  else  he  calls  up  none  at  all  in  this  part  of  my 
description.  His  composite  image  may  then  be  very  imper- 
fect and  vague,  or  he  may  give  the  whole  effort  up  in  disgust, 
and  allow  his  attention  to  be  attracted  to  something  else. 

At  such  points  as  this,  the  unintelligent  teacher  often 
complains  of  a  boy's  inattention,  and  blames  the  boy  for 
lack  of  interest.  How  important,  therefore,  it  is  that  the 
teacher  should  have  a  good  knowledge  of  the  past  experience 
of  the  boys,  so  that  he  may  be  sure  that  the  words  he 
employs  really  call  up  images  in  their  minds  !  One  of  the 
principal  reasons  why  so  many  teachers  fail  to  hold  the 
attention  of  boys  to  their  narratives  and  descriptions  is 
that  they  do  not  begin  at  home.  They  do  not  see  that  in 
these  matters,  we  must  start  on  our  excursions  from  what 
the  boys  already  know. 

A  recent  educational  writer  states  that  "  '  Known  to 
unknown  '  has  long  since  passed  into  the  realm  of  cant 
and  shibboleths."  ^  But,  interpreted  in  the  manner  here 
indicated  (and  this,  by  the  way,  is  only  one  of  its  mean- 
ings), it  is  one  of  the  most  important  principles  of  teaching. 
Especially  with  young  children,  we  must  bo  careful,  in 
describing  and  narrating,  to  connect  the  things  wliicli  are 

'  Professor  J.  W.  Adamson,  The  Practice  of  Instruction,  p.  49. 


92  IMAGINATION. 

far  off  in  time  or  place  with  the  daily  lives  of  the  children. 
We  must  compare  those  things  with  objects  which  the 
children  have  themselves  perceived,  thus  forming  images 
of  the  strange  things  from  elements  already  existing. 

Originative  or  creative  imagination  is  the  highest  type  of 
the  process  we  are  considering.  It  involves  the  construc- 
tion of  a  new  composite  image  without  any  direct  aid  from 
another  person.  The  most  splendid  types  are  usually 
considered  to  be  the  creations  of  the  poets  and  romancers. 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  for  instance,  is  the  result  of  a 
colossal  effort  of  creative  imagination.  Yet  even  this  is 
manufactured  entirely  out  of  elements  derived  from  per- 
ceptual experience.  It  is  impossible  to  demonstrate  the 
truth  of  our  statement  by  examining  such  a  work  in  detail 
here.  All  we  can  do  is  to  take  a  simple  example  of  the 
same  kind  of  process,  and  to  show  how  this  depends 
entirely  on  the  actual  experience  of  the  individual. 

We  have  all  heard  people  say  that  so-and-so  was  bom 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth.  As  we  use  the  phrase 
day  by  day,  we  probably  pay  little  attention  to  the  imagery 
which  it  can  excite.  But  the  man  who  first  lighted  upon 
it  must  have  had  a  moi'e  or  less  definite  image  of  a  baby 
coming  into  the  world  with  the  expensive  article  in  his 
mouth.  Such  a  thing  could  never  have  occurred  in  his 
experience.  But  he  had  seen  both  babies  and  silver 
spoons.  He  brings  these  together  under  the  influence 
of  a  dominating  idea — that  of  wealth  and  ease.  Wealth 
and  ease  are  connected  in  his  mind  with  such  things 
as  silver  spoons.  The  wealth  and  ease  attending  the 
upbringing  of  a  certain  favoured  individual  of  his  ac- 
quaintance cause  him,  therefore,  to  think  of  a  silver 
spoon.  He  has  perhaps  an  image,  based  on  past  experience, 
of  a  baby  Avith  something  in  his  mouth.  Under  the 
influence  of  his  dominatmg  idea,  he  substitutes  the  silver 
spoon  for  that  thing  in  his  image.  He  thus  gets  a  new 
combination  which  has  never  existed  in  reality,  though  its 
parts  are  all  derived  from  actual  experience. 

The  constructions  made  by  some  imaginative  writers  are 
so  novel  and  gigantic  that  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to 
believe  that  they  owe  all  their  parts  to  the  experience  of 


IMAGINATION.  93 

the  maker  of  them.  Yet  so  it  is.  The  novelty  consists  iu 
the  rearrangement ;  and  this  takes  place  in  obedience  to 
some  governing  idea  or  purpose.  We  may  liken  the  process 
to  what  takes  place  in  the  world  of  external  objects. 
Science  proclaims  that  man  can  neither  create  nor  destroy 
one  particle  of  matter.  Yet  he  makes  many  wonderful 
things.  These,  however,  are  only  rearrangements  of  what 
already  exists. 

From  time  immemorial  men  have  been  charmed  by  the 
creations  of  poets  and  tale-tellers.  But  these  enjoyments 
have  often  been  looked  upon  by  the  more  serious  members 
of  the  community  as  of  secondary  importance.  They  have 
often  been  regarded  as  idle  wanderings  of  the  mind,  with 
no  real  utility  for  the  business  of  life.  And  the  feeble 
attempts  of  children  in  the  same  sphere  have  been  viewed 
with  disfavour,  if  not  with  positive  condemnation.  The 
"  play  of  fancy  "  was,  until  quite  recent  times,  regarded  as 
something  to  be  discouraged,  both  in  children  and  adults. 

Now  it  is  quite  true  that  much  day-dreaming  has  been 
positively  harmful.  Men  have  lost  themselves  in  the 
world  of  imagination,  and  have  failed  to  achieve  anything 
in  real  life.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  many  have 
derived  sufficient  inspiration  from  their  dreams  to  nerve 
them  to  accomplish  much  which  they  would  not  otherwise 
have  done. 

It  is  beginning  to  be  recognised  that,  within  due  limits, 
this  sport  of  the  imagination  is  to  be  encouraged.  For 
this  creative  imagination  is  not  to  be  confined  to  the  realm 
of  literature.  The  power  of  spontaneously  combining 
images  into  new  wholes  is  at  the  root  of  many  of  the 
greatest  achievements  in  science  and  the  industrial  arts. 
The  hypotheses  of  the  scientists,  the  ideas  of  the  engineers, 
the  plans  of  the  great  architects,  all  owe  much  to  the 
power  of  imagination.  A  Newton  begins  by  imagining  the 
moon  falling  towards  the  earth,  and  ends  with  the  law  of 
gravitation.  A  Stephenson  imagines  the  locomotive,  and 
revolutionises  the  traffic  of  the  world.  A  Christopher 
Wren  imagines  a  new  St.  Paul's,  and  gives  us  one  of  the 
finest  buildings  of  modern  times. 

And  in  the  school-room,  a  vivid  imagination  will  help 


94  IMAGINATION. 

considerably  in  solving  a  problem  wliicli  relates  to  a  com- 
plex series  of  events.  The  boy  who  can  see  with  his  mind's 
eye  the  larger  number  of  men  setting  to  work  on  the  wall 
spoken  of  in  the  problem,  who  can  watch  them  bringing 
up  their  loads  and  laying  their  bricks  with  greater  rapidity, 
will  be  in  a  better  position  to  understand  that  they  will 
finish  the  work  in  a  shorter  time  than  the  boy  who  has  a 
faint  notion  of  "more  men — less  time."  Of  course,  the 
teacher  can  do  much  to  awaken  such  imaginative  processes 
by  choosing  interesting  and  real  examples,  and  by  talking 
about  the  sums  in  a  pleasant  and  encouraging  manner. 
A  large  number  of  boys  fail  to  attack  their  problems  with 
intelligence  because  they  never  really  imagine  the  circum- 
stances described. 

All  the  great  schemes  which  have  been  realised  owe 
much  of  their  success  to  the  mental  pictures  which 
have  been  framed  in  the  minds  of  their  initiators.  And 
in  the  humbler  details  of  life  all  the  little  plans  for 
improvement  which  lead  to  gradual  progress  in  the  various 
branches  of  human  activity  are  due  in  large  measure  to 
new  combinations  of  imagery  which  are  framed  under  the 
influence  of  some  dominant  idea  or  purpose. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  imagination  is 
recognised  to  be  a  most  important  branch  of  the  mind's 
activity,  and  that,  in  particular,  the  originative  type  is 
highly  esteemed.  We  hear  a  great  deal  now  in  educa- 
tional lectures  and  books  on  the  cultivation  of  the  imagina- 
tion. We  cannot,  however,  hope  for  the  ripe  fruits  of 
"  creation  "  imtil  the  tender  plant  of  reproductive  imagina- 
tion has  been  carefully  tended.  We  must  first  try  to  en- 
courage the  processes  of  perception  and  observation.  These 
usually  produce  a  plentiful  supply  of  images.  There  are 
some  children,  however,  who  seem  largely  satisfied  to 
remain  on  the  perceptual  plane.  These  especially  require 
some  assistance  in  developing  their  powers  of  imagination. 
And  even  the  others  can  be  helped  considerably  by  the 
teacher. 

How  is  this  to  be  done  ?  By  inducing  children  to  make 
definite  efforts  to  reproduce  what  they  have  observed. 
This  is  done  by  requiring  accounts  and   descriptions  of 


IMAGINATION.  95 

their  obsei'vations,  as  well  as  drawings  and  rough  sketches. 
Such  means  are  used  freely  in  many  quarters  while  the 
object  is  still  present  to  the  child.  This,  however,  chiefly 
tends  to  render  the  observations  more  definite  and  accurate. 
It  is  tiiie  that  if  the  observations  are  thus  made  with  a 
maximum  of  attention,  their  traces  will  remain  more 
firmly  fixed,  so  that  subsequent  imagination  will  be 
more  successful.  And  the  practice  is  to  be  highly 
commended  on  that  account.  The  teacher  should  not  be 
satisfied  to  let  the  children  look  at  objects.  He  should 
require  them  to  tell  what  they  see.  But  more  is  necessary 
if  reproductive  imagination  is  to  be  definitely  encouraged. 
The  children  must  also  be  accustomed  to  describe  or  draw 
what  they  have  seen,  after  an  interval  has  elapsed.  In 
order  to  succeed  in  such  exercises,  the  children  will  need 
to  call  up  images. 

As  we  have  already  shown,  children  are  exercised  in 
interpretative  imagination  whenever  they  listen  to,  and  are 
able  to  understand,  a  description.  And  we  may  repeat 
once  again  the  caution  that  the  teacher  should  be  careful 
to  use  words  which  will  most  probably  call  up  the 
required  images  in  the  children's  minds.  He  can  never 
be  quite  sure  that  he  has  succeeded,  especially  in  the  more 
complicated  cases.  Hence  the  need  of  ascertaining  what 
kind  of  effect  he  has  pi'oduced  in  the  children's  minds. 
Drawing  and  description  on  tlie  part  of  the  children  will 
help  him  here  also  ;  especially  the  former.  Not  nearly 
enough  use  is  made  of  drawing  in  this  connection.  Teachers 
are  too  prone  to  consider  that  di-awing  is  only  to  be  em- 
ployed when  the  object  is  present.  In  acquiring  prelimi- 
nary skill  in  the  art,  this  is  often  necessary.  But  as 
soon  as  any  skill  is  acquired,  the  art  can  be  put  to  other 
uses.  If,  after  a  tale  has  been  told,  or  a  description  given, 
the  children  are  required  to  portray  what  they  have  imaged, 
the  exercise  will  not  only  be  a  valuable  means  of  fixing 
what  has  been  recounted  to  them,  but  it  will  afford  the 
teacher  an  opportunity  of  getting  some  idea  of  what  has 
been  produced  in  the  children's  minds  in  response  to  his 
words. 

The  method  can  very  well  be  employed  also  with  older 


96  IMAGINATION, 

pupils.  Professor  Adams  has  given  some  striking  in- 
stances of  the  utility  of  this  check  on  imagination.  He 
refers,  for  instance,  to  some  traiuiug-college  students  who, 
having  read  Robinson  Cnisoe,  were  required  to  draw  a 
sketch  of  his  first  shelter  on  the  island.  One  drew  a 
Union  Jack  as  the  covering  for  the  roof.  Asked  for  the 
justification  of  this,  he  referred  to  the  passage  in  which 
Crusoe  asserts  that  he  covered  his  shelter  "  with  flags  and 
large  leaves  of  trees,  like  a  thatch."  The  word  f.ags, 
instead  of  calling  up  the  image  of  broad  leaves,  had 
suggested  the  coloured  cloths  which  we  all  might  imagine 
if  the  word  occurred  in  some  other  context.^  Now  it  was 
only  by  a  sketch  that  this  error  was  found  out.  And  if 
teachers  would  employ  drawing,  not  only  for  its  usual 
objects,  but  as  a  means  of  expression  of  ideas  and  images, 
they  would  discover  many  vagaries  in  the  minds  of  their 
scholars. 

There  is  no  need  here,  of  course,  to  worry  about  the 
quality  of  the  drawing  as  such.  Assuming  a  certain 
ability  to  draw,  we  merely  make  use  of  it.  Thus,  after  the 
boys  have  read  or  heard  a  description  or  narration  of  some 
literary  value,  they  might  frequently  be  asked  to  express 
the  images  which  have  been  formed  in  their  minds. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  limit  this  kind  of  expression  to 
drawing.  Modelling  in  clay  or  plasticine  will  sometimes 
be  a  more  convenient  and  more  interesting  alternative. 
Some  scenes,  too,  may  be  re-enacted  by  dramatisation. 
Of  this  we  have  already  spoken  in  another  place. 

'Pew  teachers  venture  to  push  on  their  boys  into  the 
field  of  originative  imagination.  Yet,  if  we  are  prepared 
to  give  sympathetic  appreciation  to  the  efforts  of  immature 
minds,  we  shall  find  here  a  sphere  of  activity  in  which 
surprising  progress  can  be  made.  The  composition  lessons 
will  perhaps  afford  the  most  suitable  opportunities  for 
much  of  this  work.  It  is  not  advisable  to  hurry  the  boys 
very  abruptly  from  the  interpretative  to  the  creative 
sphere.  There  may  be  a  series  of  gentle  transitions.  Thus 
a  story  may  be  told  up  to  a  highly  interesting  point  and 

'  The  Herhartian  Psychology  Applied  to  Education,  p.  217. 


IMAGINATION.  97 

then  held  itp,  the  lioys  beiui^  asked  to  give  their  owu 
accoimts  of  the  eudiug.  (They  may  afterwards  be  re- 
warded by  allowing  them  to  hear  the  author's  couclusiorii) 
A  series  of  pictures  illustrating  various  events  in  a  possible 
story  may  on  another  occasion  be  shown  to  the  boys,  and 
they  may  be  asked  to  construct  a  story  on  the  basis  of 
those  events.  Later  a  few  persons  and  things  may  be 
mentioned,  and  the  boys  can  be  asked  to  construct  a  story 
introducing  the  people  and  objects  referred  to.  Still 
later,  the  general  theme  may  be  all  that  is  given.  They 
may  be  asked  to  write  a  story  on  war,  one  on  sport,  one 
illustrating  the  evils  of  intemperance  or  the  advantages  of 
perseverance.  Lastly,  from  time  to  time  they  may  be  al- 
lowed to  Avrite  an  original  story  on  any  subject  they  please. 

We  have  already  noted  the  use  of  drawing  as  an  aid  to 
interpretative  imagination.  It  may  also  be  used  to  further 
the  originative  variety.  When  children  have  drawn  leaves 
of  different  shapes  from  cojiiex,  they  may  be  encouraged 
to  combine  them  in  new  covihinations.  When  they  have 
had  some  practice  in  dealing  with  various  colours  and 
forms,  they  may  l)e  asked  to  arrange  them  to  form 
original  designs.  Much  work  of  this  kind  has  been  done 
in  some  of  the  best  schools,  and  some  of  the  results 
obtained  are  surprising  in  their  excellence. 

There  are  other  spheres,  besides  those  of  composition 
and  drawing,  in  Avhich  some  scope  can  be  given  to 
originative  imagination.  But  teachers  are,  as  a  rule,  so 
anxious  to  get  the  boys  through  the  courses  prescribed 
that  little  attempt  is  made  to  cultivate  originality,  though 
the  word  is  on  every  tongue.  When  an  educationist 
proposes  heuristic  methods — methods  in  which  boys  are 
left  to  find  out  ways  and  means  for  themselves — he  is  met 
by  the  objection  that  they  can  do  very  little  indeed  in  this 
way,  that  life  is  short  and  that  much  has  to  be  acquired 
rapidly  if  we  are  to  profit  by  the  knowledge  acquired  by 
our  predecessors.  All  this  is  quite  true.  And  for  a 
teacher  to  attempt  to  get  his  boys  to  discover  all  things  by 
themselves  would  be  the  height  of  folly.  But  this  is  no 
reason  why  some  scope  should  not  he  given  for  inventive- 
ness.    The    teacher    might,   for    instance,   pause    in   an 

FUND.  PSY.  7 


98  IMAGINATION, 

experiment  aud  give  the  boys  an  oppoi-tunity  of  reflect- 
ing as  to  how  the  result  aimed  at  is  to  be  achieved. 

Sometimes,  perhaps,  he  will  find  that,  although  he  him- 
self has  learned  the  way  to  perform  it  from  a  book,  there 
may  be  some  boy  who  can  hit  upon  the  course  of  pro- 
cedure unaided.  We  shall,  of  course,  find  few  geniuses 
among  our  pupils.  But  we  shall  find  much  more  inven- 
tiveness than  we  expect,  if  only  we  give  some  opportunity 
for  its  development.  The  keen  student  of  children  may 
sometimes  come  across  a  child  for  whose  powers  he 
will  feel  a  wholesome  respect.  The  fact  that  teachers 
deal  with  immature  minds  tends  to  make  the  less  intelli- 
gent of  them  come  to  consider  all  their  pupils  as  inferior 
to  themselves  in  mental  power.  It  is  salutary  to  remember 
the  example  of  a  teacher  who  made  a  practice  of  bowing 
respectfully  to  his  class,  giving  as  his  reason  the  proba- 
bility tliat,  among  so  many,  some  at  any  rate  were  hkely 
to  be  his  intellectual  superiors. 

In  much  of  what  has  just  been  said  we  have  overstepped 
the  bounds  of  imagination,  aud  trespassed  into  the  field  of 
reasoning,  which  will  be  dealt  with  in  detail  later.  But 
this  is  of  little  consequence  if  the  truth  is  brought  home 
that  the  inventiveness  displayed  in  creative  imagination 
and  that  of  reasoning  are  often  intimately  connected. 
Imagiaiatiou  often  helps  reasoning.  In  creative  imagina- 
tion we  are  indeed  under  the  dominance  of  ideas  (which 
ai'e  not  the  same  things  as  images).  But  our  images  play 
a  large  and  important  part.  In  reasoning,  ideas  are  the 
supreme  factors,  and  determine  the  whole  process,  whether 
images  are  present  to  help  or  not. 

Many  readers  will  have  felt,  especially  during  the 
perusal  of  the  last  remarks,  that  productive  imagination, 
both  receptive  and  creative,  and  especially  the  latter,  in- 
volves much  more  than  the  reproduction  of  imagery  and 
the  combining  of  certain  portions  into  a  new  whole.  In 
speaking  of  creative  imagination,  for  instance,  we  have 
referred  to  a  dominant  idea.  Why  are  certain  poi'tions  of 
the  reproduced  imagery  selected  and  others  discarded  ? 
The  play  of  mere  imagery  will  not  account  for  it.  In 
interpretative  imagination  the  words  used  by  the  speaker 


IMAGINATION,  99 

or  writer  do  iudeed  call  up  imagery.  But  they  do  more. 
Thev  coustitute  a  framework  of  ideas.  These  involve  a 
direction  of  attention  to  certain  relations  or  connections 
subsisting  among  the  parts  of  the  whole  to  be  constructed. 
And  to  satisfy  all  the  conditions  laid  down  by  these 
relations,  only  certain  parts  of  the  reproduced  imagery 
can  be  selected  and  combined.  To  put  it  in  another  way, 
the  ideas  together  form  a  network  which  catches  or  retains 
only  certain  portions  of  the  images  which  are  aroused.  In 
interpretative  imagination  this  ideational  network  is 
given  with  the  words  of  the  speaker  or  writer,  j^i'ovided 
always  that  the  person  hearing  them  understands  their 
meaning.  In  creative  imagination  these  ideas  are  evoked 
by,  or  in  connection  with,  the  dominant  idea  which  has 
taken  possession  of  the  mind  of  the  composer.  Why  they 
should  be  thus  evoked  cannot  occujjy  us  now.  The  laws 
which  govern  the  suggestion  of  both  ideas  and  images  will 
be  dealt  with  in  a  later  chapter  (Memory).  Meanwhile,  it 
is  necessary  to  study  the  nature  of  ideas  as  distinguished 
from  images.  This  will,  accordingly,  be  the  subject  of  the 
next  chapter. 

Questions  on  Chapter  VI. 

1.  What  is  the  psychological  meanhig  of  the  term  imayiuatioul 
Distinguish  it  from  the  meaning  of  ordinary  speech. 

2.  What  are  the  various  kinds  of  imagination  ?  Which  kind  is 
active  in  the  mind  of  a  person  describing  his  holidaj',  and  which  in 
that  of  the  person  listening  ? 

3.  What  do  you  understand  by  originative  ovcreatice  imagination? 
Give  some  instances  of  it  which  might  occur  in  school. 

4.  Why  should  tlie  teacher  attempt  to  develop  the  imagination  of 
his  pupils  ? 

5.  How  may  imagination  be  cultivated  in  school  ? 

6.  What  is  the  difl'erence  between  the  imagination  of  Milton  in 
writing  I'aradif<e  Lost,  and  that  of  the  student  who  reads  and 
appreciates  it? 

7.  Is  there  any  sense  in  which  a  good  work  of  fiction  can  be  called 
true  ? 


CHAPTER    VJI. 


Ideation  (I.). 

In  dealiug  with  both  observation  and  imaginatiou,  we 
have  had  to  refer  to  the  part  played  by  ideas  or  by  thought. 
We  have  attempted  to  describe  the  "  lower  "  processes  of 
miud  with  a  minimum  of  reference  to  this  higher  powder 
of  ideation,  or  thought,  or  conception,  as  it  is  sometimes 
called.  It  has,  however,  been  obvious  to  the  intelligent 
reader  that  we  were  only  dealiug  with  one  aspect  of  those 
processes — a  most  important  one,  it  is  true,  but  not  the 
only  one.  In  the  mind  of  the  adult,  and  comparatively 
early  also  in  the  mind  of  the  child,  percepts  and  images 
are  overlaid  and  permeated  by  "higher"  or  ideational 
processes.  And  it  is  now  our  business  to  examine  as 
thoroughly  as  possible  the  nature  of  these  ideas,  or  concepts, 
as  they  may  be  termed. 

What,  then,  is  an  idea  ?  We  can  best  indicate  what  it 
is  by  referring  to  the  most  frequent  way  in  which  it  occurs. 
Whenever  we  use  or  understand  a  word,  there  is  involved 
a  thought,  or,  to  put  it  in  another  way,  the  turning  of  our 
attention  in  a  definite  direction.  Thus,  when  I  speak  of  a 
blackbird,  there  is  one  thought — that  of  a  particular  kind 
of  bird  which  is  familiar  to  me.  When  I  speak  of  a 
black  bird,  there  are  two  directions  of  attention — (1)  to 
what  is  meant  by  black,  and  (2)  to  what  is  meant  by  bird. 
These  tw^o  acts  of  attention  do  not  remain  separate.  They 
immediately  combine  to  form  one  more  definite  thought,  or 
one  more  specific  direction  of  attention.  Black  by  itself 
or  bird  by  itself  might  arouse  a  thought,  but  the  attention 
would  be  ready  to  wander  over  many  things— over  all  black 
things  in  the  one  case,  over  all  birds  in  the  other.  The 
two  together  define  or  direct  my  thought  into  one  more 
definite  channel.     It  is  like  fixing  the  position  of  a  point 

100 


IDEATION.  101 

on  a  square  surface.  If  I  say  it  is  three  inclies  from  one 
side,  the  attention  can  wander  all  along  a  line  drawn  three 
inches  from  that  side,  and  parallel  to  it.  If  I  say  that  it 
is  two  inches  from  an  adjacent  side,  the  attention  would, 
if  this  information  alone  wei'e  given,  wander  along  a  line 
drawn  two  inches  from  that  other  side  and  parallel  to  it. 
But  the  two  directions  taken  together  limit  the  position  to 
one,  and  only  one,  point — that  of  the  intersection  of  the 
two  lines. 

We  have  taken  a  case  of  two  directions  of  thought  only 
for  the  sake  of  simplicity.  But  often  there  are  many 
thoughts  which  combine  to  cause  convergence  in  one  very 
definite  direction.  Thus,  if  I  speak  of  the  iwesent  Chief 
Inspector  of  Elementary  Education,  there  are  a  number  of 
general  notions  which  together  direct  my  thought  to  one, 
and  only  one,  man.  If  I  omit  one  or  more  of  the  words, 
the  direction  of  attention  is  thereby  rendered  less  deter- 
minate. 

By  this  time  the  reader  may  be  somewhat  confused. 
He  may  say  that  when  he  hears  or  uses  the  word  hlachbird, 
for  instance,  the  image  of  a  blackbird  comes  up  in  his 
mind.  And  he  may  ask :  "  Is  this  image,  then,  the  idea  ?  " 
If  the  answer  were  in  the  affirmative,  there  would  be  no 
difference  between  the  idea  and  the  image.  Good  visua- 
lisers  would  probably  always  get  some  sort  of  visual  image 
with  a  word  of  this  kind.  The  concept,  or  idea,  however, 
does  not  consist  in  this  particular  "picture"  as  such,  but  in 
the  direction  of  thought  tchich  arises  in  connection  unth  it. 
I  am  not  engrossed  in  the  mere  image,  but  I  am  thinlcing 
of  something,  and  this  thing  is  cei'tainly  not  an  image  in 
my  mind.  I  am  thinking  of  a  blackbird  ;  I  am  not  merely 
experiencing  the  image. 

"  The  sense  of  our  meaning  is  an  entirely  pec^diar  element 
of  the  thought.  It  is  one  of  those  evanescent  and  '  transi- 
tive' fjicts  of  mind  whicli  introspection  cannot  turn  round 
upon,  and  isolate  and  hold  up  for  examination,  as  an 
entomologist  passes  rtjund  an  insect  on  a  pin.  .  .  .  Tlie 
geometer,  with  his  one  d«^fiuite  figure  before  him,  knows 
perfectly  that  his  thoughts  apply  to  countless  other  figures 
as  well,  and  that  although  he  sees  lines  of  a  certain  bigness, 


102  IDEATION. 

direction,  colour,  etc.,  he  means  not  one  of  tliese  details. 
When  I  use  the  word  man  in  two  different  sentences,  I 
may  have  both  times  exactly  the  same  sound  upon  my  lips 
and  the  same  picture  in  my  mental  eye,  but  I  may  mean, 
and  at  the  very  moment  of  uttering  the  word  and  imaging 
the  picture  know  that  I  mean,  two  entirely  different  things. 
Thus  when  I  say  :  '  What  a  wonderful  man  Jones  is ! ' 
I  am  perfectly  aware  that  I  mean  by  man  to  exclude 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  or  Smith.  But  when  I  say  :  '  What 
a  wonderful  thing  Man  is ! '  I  am  equally  well  aware  that 
I  mean  to  include  not  only  Jones,  but  Napoleon  and  Smith 
as  well.  This  added  consciousness  is  an  absolutely  positive 
sort  of  feeling,  transforming  what  would  otherwise  be  mere 
noise  or  vision  into  something  understood  ;  and  determining 
the  sequel  of  my  thinking,  the  later  words  and  images,  in 
a  perfectly  definite  way."' 

This  "  added  consciousness  "  arises  in  connection  with 
both  percepts  and  images.  When  we  have  once  passed  the 
first  few  months  of  our  existence,  it  attaches  itself  to  all 
our  cognitive  experience.  Wlien  we  attond  fully  to  any- 
thing, we  do  not  merely  get  a  percept  of  it,  the  mere  cog- 
nition of  an  object ;  we  have  in  each  case,  whether  of  per- 
ception or  of  imagery,  the  cognition  of  some  particular 
object,  which  we  recognise.  So  long  as  I  fail  to  concentrate 
attention  on  it,  my  desk  is  merely  an  object,  which  I  avoid 
in  passing,  or  at  which  I  sit  down  when  I  wish  to  write.  But 
as  soon  as  I  attend  definitely  to  it,  it  becomes  my  desk. 
To  get  to  know  it  in  this  way,  I  have  had  much  experience 
in  the  past  connected  with  it.  And  in  connection  with 
that  experience,  a  higher  cortical  centre  has  been  excited 
and  developed.  - 

We  may,  indeed,  speak  of  two  such  centres,  though  they 

'  James,  Principhs  of  Psycholofjy,  Vol.  I.,  p.  472. 

2 It  is  not  admitted  by  all  psychologists  that  there  is  a  neparale 
centre  for  the  meaning  or  idea.  Meumann,  for  instance,  writes  : 
"Further,  one  of  these  centres,  the  conceptual  centre  (or  centre  for 
the  ideas  of  objects),  is  not  authenticated,  but  constructed  out  of 
pure  theorj',  and  I  consider  it  unlikely  that  a  separate  centre  of  this 
kind  exists  ;  the  obtaining  of  word-meanings  can  just  as  well  be 
connected  with  a  co-operation  of  the  various  centres  of  sensation  and 
perception.  ..."  {VorJesunyen,  Band  II.,  p.  269.) 


IDEATION.  103 

are  so  intimately  related  that  they  usually  act  in  close  con- 
nection. The  two  centres  are  those  of  conception  and  of 
speech.  We  cannot,  as  a  rule,  speak  or  hear  a  familiar  word 
without  at  once  directing  attention  to  its  meaniruj,  i.e.  the 
concept  or  idea  which  is  connected  with  it  arises  in  our 
minds.  And  we  cannot,  as  a  rule,  think  of  a  meaning  without 
the  corresponding  word  arising  at  the  same  time.  In  a  few 
cases  there  may  Ije  a  hitch  in  the  process.  But  usually 
idea  and  word  go  together  in  consciousness.  We  may  also 
have  in  consciousness  at  the  same  time  a  percept  or  an 
image  of  the  thing  or  things  signified.  But  that  is  not 
essential.  Some  things  to  which  we  direct  our  attention 
may  have  no  percepts  or  images  corresponding  to  them 
beyond  the  percepts  or  images  involved  in  the  word  or  its 
revival  (e.g.  virtue,  vmdom,  covrcuje).  And  even  where 
images  of  the  things  are  easily  possible,  some  people  do 
not  have  them.  Tlie  word  with  its  meaning  will  always 
serve.  The  two  are  so  closely  connected  that  Professor 
Max  Midler  prefeiTed  to  speak  of  the  vx/rd-thought. 

The  nature  of  the  speech  centres,  and  at  the  same  time 
their  clo.se  relation  to  the  ideational  centres,  may  be  more 
clearly  understood  by  a  little  further  elucidation.  A  word 
in  the  first  place  is  a  combination  of  sounds.  As  such  it 
gives  rise  to  excitations  in  a  sensory-  area  of  the  cortex.  This 
area  has  been  shown  by  Wernicke  to  be  located — under  nor- 
mal circumstances — on  the  left  side  of  the  cerebrum,  just 
below  the  fissure  of  Sylvius  (marked  Hearing  in  Fig.  15). 

But  very  early  in  life  the  hearing  of  a  word  leads  to 
imitation  of  its  sound.  This  brings  into  play  movements 
of  the  organs  of  speech.  These  movements  are  effected 
by  means  of  nervous  impulses  which  take  their  rise 
in  a  motor  area  of  the  cortex.  This  area  has  l^een  shown 
by  Broca  to  be  located — under  normal  circumstances — also 
on  the  left  side  of  the  cerebrum,  Imt  in  this  case  in  the 
region  in  front  of  the  fissure  of  Sylvius  and  close  hy  the 
end  of  the  fissure  of  Rolando  (marked  Face  in  Fig.  15). 

Further  Ut  the  back  of  the  cortex  is  another  area  which 
is  excited  in  connection  with  the  sight  of  a  word  (marked 
Vision  in  Fig.  15).  And  in  yet  another  part  of  the  cortex 
(marked  Arm  in  Fig.  15)  is  an  area  from  which  impulses 


104  IDEATION, 

go  to  tbe  muscles  of  the  hand  and  arm,  and  which  is  thus 
connected  with  the  movements  involved  in  writing  a  word. 
All  these  centres  may  be  involved — with  the  educated  adult 
— in  the  occurrence  of  any  word,  though  probably  the 
part  played  by  each  varies  greatly  with  different  individuals, 
and  with  the  same  individual  at  diffei*ent  times  (e.g. 
according  as  one  is  speaking,  or  listening,  or  reading,  or 
writing  from  dictation,  or  writing  spontaneously,  and  so 


Fig.  15. — Diagram  of  the  Left  Hemisphere  of  the   Brain  showing   Motor 
AND  Sensory  Centres. 

Cb  =  Cerebellum  ;  B  =  Medulla  Oblongata  or  Bulb. 

on).  It  must  be  remembered  that  they  become  connected 
together  by  nerve-fibres  in  such  a  way  that  when  one  is 
aroused  to  activity  the  others  are  to  some  extent  excited 
also — giving  rise  to  more  or  less  vague  revivals  of  past 
experience.  But  in  addition  to  all  this,  other  centres, 
connected  ivitli  the  meaning  of  the  ivord,  are  usually  excited. 
Images  and  ideas  totally  different  from  the  word  itself 
usually  arise  and  play  the  predominant  part.  In  a  large 
number  of  cases,  the  centres  concerned  in  these  processes 
cannot  be  definitely  located.  For  the  sake  of  definite- 
ness,  however,  we  may  speak  of  them  as  the  ideational 
or  thought  centres.  And  the  accompanying  diagram 
(Fig.  16)'  may  help  to  give  some  notion  of  the  com- 
1  Adapted  from  Stoning. 


IDEATION,  105 

plexity  and  interconuectedness  of  tlie  word-tliouglifc 
apparatus  in  the  brain. 

The  diagram  is  probably  much  more  simple  in  form  than 
the  actual  mechanism.  The  one  centre  labelled  Idea,  for 
instance,  may  be  constituted  out  of  a  large  number  of 
interconnected     sub-centres. 

Now     when     all     the     con-  sight  of  word 

nections  between  the  various 
centres  have  been  developed, 
the  excitation  of  one  of  them  spee 
tends  to  arouse  some  or  all 
of  the  others.  And  the  corre- 
sponding mental  states  are, 
of  course,  aroused.  "  The 
fact  is  that  meaning  is  part  Fig.  ic. 

and    parcel    of    word- sound 

and  of  word-utterance,  as  these  ordinarily  occur  in  read- 
ing and  in  thinking  ;  that  is,  what  we  take  for  word- 
sound  and  word-utterance  is  largely  word-meaning.  And 
as  meaning  inheres  in  or  is  fused  with  the  word's  sound 
or  utterance,  so  to  get  the  meaning  we  natvirally  vitter  the 
word,  incipiently  for  the  most  part,  actually  when  the 
meaning  is  obscure."^ 

From  this  short  excursion  into  the  realm  of  physiological 
psychology  it  is  evident  that,  though  we  speak  glibly  of 
definite  centres  for  this  or  that  process,  the  matter  is  far 
more  complicated.  "  There  is  no  '  centi-e  of  Speech '  in 
the  brain  any  more  than  there  is  a  faculty  of  speech  in  the 
mind.  The  entire  brain  is  at  work  in  a  man  who  uses 
language."  "  When,  therefore,  we  speak  of  speech  centres 
as  if  they  were  separate,  clearly  defined  portions  of  the 
brain,  it  must  he  understood  that  we  do  so  only  for  the 
sake  of  simplicity.  And  the  same  remark  applies  to  all 
that  has  been  said,  in  previous  chapters  as  well  as  in  this 
one,  with  regard  to  special  and  definite  centres  for  percep- 
tion, imagination,  and  ideation.  Probal)Iy  no  such  definite 
centres  will  ever  l)e  found.  Still  it  conduces  to  clearness 
of  thought  in  these  matters  to  avoid  the  immense  coni- 

'  Huey,  The  P:<ij<;hoIo<ty  and  Pedayofiy  of  lieculing,  p.  164, 
-James,  Priiiciplts  of  J^xycholoy;/,  Vol.  I.,  p.  58, 


106  IDEATION. 

plexity  which  actually  exists  by  reference  to  definite  and 
separate  centres  in  each  case,  and  we  shall  continue  to  do 
so  when  it  serves  our  purpose. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  the  higher  centres  of  which 
we  have  spoken  exist  ready-made  in  the  brain.  We  are 
not  born  with  the  power  of  ideation,  or  of  speech.  But  the 
necessary  tracts  of  the  cortex  soon  grow,  and  are  ready  for 
development.  This  development,  however,  cannot  take 
place  of  itself.  It  can  only  occur  with  experience.  The 
lower  centres  of  sensation,  and  to  some  extent  those  of 
perception,  seem  to  be  born  Avith  us.  They  begin  to  act 
with  almost  machine-like  regularity.  This  is  particularly 
noticealjle  in  the  case  of  the  lower  animals,  which  appear 
to  perceive  things  without  any  pi-evious  experience. 

The  higher  centres  of  speech  and  of  conception  develop 
slowly,  and  depend  largely  upon  experience.  Hence  the 
need  of  systematic  observation  lessons.  The  wonderful 
development  which  takes  place  distinguishes  man  from  all 
the  other  animals.  It  is,  of  course,  not  entirely  due  to  the 
experiences  provided.  Otherwise  there  would  be  no  reason 
why  animals  living  in  a  civilised  environment  should  not 
develop  in  this  way.  The  necessary  cortical  tracts  must 
be  in  existence.  "  Mental  development  cannot  be  fully 
explained  by  experience :  there  is  an  organic  development 
upon  which  the  mental  development  rests  and  withovit 
which  the  process  would  be  impossible.  This  organic  sub- 
stratum varies  enormously,  and  accounts  for  much  of  the 
diversity  in  the  rate  and  natiu-e  of  mental  development."  ^ 

And  it  is  only  the  human  brain  which  grows  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  produce  an  adequate  substratum  for  a  large 
number  of  such  ideas.  When  once  it  exists,  and  the  brain 
is  in  a  healthy  state,  the  requisite  kind  of  experience  leads 
to  that  development  which  makes  the  higher  forms  of 
ideation  possible.  A  person  might  have  a  brain  capahle 
of  the  highest  degree  of  development.  But  if  he  is  not 
put  in  a  civilised  environment,  these  higher  centres  will 
not  be  developed.  We  hear,  for  instance,  of  the  wild  boy 
of  Aveyron,  who  had  been  abandoned   in  the  woods  at  an 

'  Mumfoid,  The  Dawn  of  Character,  pp.  31,  32. 


IDEATION.  107 

early  age,  and  wlio  Lad  managed  to  survive  without  the 
usual  attention  bestowed  on  children  by  their  parents. 
When  discovered,  he  was  speechless,  and,  from  the  human 
point  of  view,  almost  devoid  of  any  powers  of  discrimina- 
tion.^ 

The  speech  centres  probably  develop  more  rapidly  than 
the  ideational.  Words,  to  begin  with,  are  percepts  — 
auditory  ones  in  the  case  of  the  young  child,  though  they 
soon  become  kinaesthetic  also  as  he  learns  to  produce  them 
by  imitation.  There  is,  probably,  something  of  the  ready- 
made  in  the  cortical  centres  connected  with  speech.  A 
child  begins  to  babble  very  eai'ly,  making  all  kinds  of 
sounds  and  taking  great  delight  both  in  hearing  and  in 
uttering  them.  He  has  a  special  tendency  to  listen 
to  sounds,  and  to  strive  to  imitate  them.  He  pro- 
bably succeeds  in  doing  this  in  many  cases  before  any 
ideational  meaning  is  attached  to  them,  i.e.  before  his  con- 
ceptual centres  have  developed  to  a  corresj)onding  extent. 

Fond  parents,  of  course,  often  attribute  to  him  all  tlie 
ideas  which  they  have  in  using  the  same  words.  And 
some  teachers  seem  to  think  that  if  they  can  get  the 
child  to  repeat  a  form  of  Avords,  he  must  thereby  mean 
the  same  things  as  they  understand  when  using  those 
words.  But  although  some  meaning  soon  arises  in  his 
mind,  his  early  words  are  similar  to  those  of  the  parrot — 
mere  imitations  of  sounds,  evoked  in  a  perceptual  way. 
The  proud  mother  is  very  much  like  the  man  who  asked 
a  parrot  exposed  for  sale  whether  he  was  worth  his  price. 
The  parrot  replied  "  Tliere  is  no  doubt  about  it."  He 
was  eagerly  captured  and  taken  home,  where,  however,  he 
disappointed  liis  purcliaser  by  revealing  the  fact  that  this 
was  all  he  could  say.  After  many  attempts  to  get  some- 
thing new  from  the  bird,  the  man  cried  out:  "  Was  I  not 
a  fool  to  pay  so  much  for  you?"  "There  is  no  doubt 
about  it  ?  "  came  tlie  answer.     There  was  no  ideation  be- 

'  "Tliose  wlio  saw  th(!  .'^airige  nj  Arcyron  at  tlie  time  of  his 
arrival  in  Paris  know  that  he  was  much  inferior,  with  respect  to 
discrimination,  to  the  more  intelligent  of  our  domestic'  animals." — 
Itard,  liapporln  ci  Mi'moires  siir  /e  Saiivaqe  (ht  /'Aivi/ruii  (I'aris  : 
Mean,  1894),  p.  24. 


108  IDEATION. 

liiud  these  words.  They  were  merely  habitual  responses  to 
all  kinds  of  auditory  stimuli.  The  parrot,  then,  develops 
speech  centres ;  but  there  are  no  correspondingly  rich 
ideational  centres  which  can  be  developed  along  with  them. 

As  soon,  however,  as  the  infant  begins  to  get  control  of 
words,  they  become  a  means  of  directing  his  attention  to 
a  multitude  of  objects.  For  his  ideational  centres  are 
developing  also,  and  their  development  is  stimulated  by 
the  impulses  which  now  arrive  from  the  speech  centres. 
Thereafter  the  two  centres  develop  together,  and  become  so 
intimately  connected  that  they  are  best  referred  to  as  parts 
of  one  and  the  same  centre. 

Since  ideas  do  not  spring  up  by  themselves  in  the  mind, 
but  require  experience  for  their  production,  it  behoves  the 
teacher  to  know  something  of  the  experience  which  is 
necessary  and  of  the  way  in  which  that  experience  acts  in 
helping  to  produce  the  ideas.  It  is  the  teacher's  business 
as  an  instructor  to  see  to  it  that  the  child  "  learns  some- 
thing," in  other  words  that  he  acquires  a  certain  stock  of 
ideas  while  at  school.  How  then  do  these  ideas  arise  ?  We 
shall  get  some  light  on  the  matter  if  we  begin  with  the 
early  ideas  of  the  child  and  notice  the  kind  of  experience 
which  is  necessary  for  their  production,  then  proceed  to  later 
ideas,  again  examining  the  experience  required,  and  so  on. 

Let  us,  then,  take  one  of  the  first  things  the  child 
learns  to  recognise,  to  attend  to,  and  to  name.  He  soon 
gets  to  know  his  father.  Now  it  is  unnecessary  to  re- 
capitulate a  description  of  the  processes  of  sensation  and 
perception  which  are  necessary  as  a  beginning.  Let  it  be 
sufficient  to  remind  the  student  that  the  child  may  jjejre/i'e 
his  father  very  early  in  his  first  year,  i.e.  he  may  learn  to 
adapt  himself  and  his  movements  in  a  lilind  sort  of  way  to 
his  father's  caresses,  as  indeed  he  Avould  do  to  those  of  his 
mother  or  his  nurse.  But  this  might  take  place  without 
any  definite  recognition  of  his  father  as  a  being  distinct 
from  all  other  beings,  as  the  same  person  whom  he  had 
previously  seen.  In  other  words,  he  remains  for  some 
short  time  on  the  plane  of  mere  perception. 

It  is  not  till  the  child  gets  this  feeling  of  sameness 
that  ideation  or  thought  begins.     As  James  says,  "  This 


IDEATION,  109 

sense  of  sameness  is  the  very  keel  aud  backbone  oC  our 
tliiukiug."  '  How  can  this  peculiar  consciousuess  be 
produced  ?  It  is  evident  that  the  child  must  perceive 
his  father  a  uunil)er  of  times.  Each  pei'ception  would 
leave  some  trace  on  his  mind  and  on  his  brain.  If,  how- 
ever, the  higher  centres  were  not  brought  into  play,  the 
result  would  be  a  mere  facilitation  of  the  process  of  per- 
ception and  of  the  adaptive  movements  necessaiy.  This, 
for  instance,  is  what  probably  takes  place  in  the  case  of 
most,  of  the  lower  animals.  But  in  man  higher  centres 
exist  and  are  excited — those  pf  imagination  aud  ideation. 
The  child's  past  experiences  of  his  father  have  involved 
the  development  of  nerve  centres  whose  excitation  is 
accompanied  by  more  or  less  distinct  images — of  his 
father's  appearance,  his  walk,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
so  forth.  The  speech  centres  have  also  been  modified  by 
the  name  "  Daddy "  so  often  pronounced,  and  their  re- 
excitation  now  may  cause  an  image  of  the  spoken  word 
to  arise  in  the  child's  mind. 

But  above  all  the  ideational  centre  must  be  excited.  It 
is  no  doubt  intimately  connected  with  the  centres  of 
imagery  just  referred  to.  But  its  excitation  involves 
something  more  than  mere  imagery.  It  involves  that 
"  added  consciousness,"  that  "  sense  of  sameness,"  which 
is  bound  up  in  the  clear  cognition  of  "  Daddy."  All 
the  images  referred  to  may  only  be  in  the  nascent  stage, 
they  may  not  develop  into  sufficiently  clear-cut  forms  as 
to  warrant  our  calling  them  images.  They  may  .only 
form  a  vague  "  halo  "  round  the  central  point  of  conscious- 
uess— the  visual  percept.  But  if  the  ideational  centre  is 
"  touched  off,"  there  is  more  than  mere  perception,  more 
than  a  series  of  vague  images ;  there  is  that  unique  form 
of  consciousness  which,  if  the  child  could  express  it, 
would  be  "  Hallo  !   Daddy  once  again  !  " 

We  cannot  explain  this  added  idea.  It  is  unlike  any- 
thing in  the  world  of  mere  perception  or  of  imagination.  Yet 
it  depends  upon  the  processes  of  perception  and  imagina- 
tion.    If  we  introspect  we  can  discover  no  mental  content 

'  Principlen  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  4o'J. 


110  IDEATION. 

beyond  the  percept  or  image,  or  both.  The  idea,  then, 
is  no  third  thing  to  be  placed  alongside  of  these.  It  is 
a  sort  of  transformation  of  the  way  iu  which  these  are 
assimilated.  Using  a  crude  analogy,  we  may  say  that 
just  as  when  iron  is  heated  to  a  certain  point  it  becomes 
luminous,  so  when  sense-data  are  transformed  into  per- 
cepts, or  are  revived  as  images,  and  when  these  determine 
or  help  to  determine  a  concentration  of  attention,  there  is 
a  totally  different  phenomenon — the  recognition  of  some 
definite  object  as  identical  with  what  has  been  perceived 
before.  This  is  what  we  mean  by  the  idea.  This  final 
result  is  usually  fixed  and  made  more  definite  by  the  use 
of  a  word.  And  the  centres  for  this  become  so  closely  con- 
nected with  those  of  the  idea  that  this  word  becomes 
capable  of  arousing  the  idea  at  any  time,  whether  any 
other  percept  or  image  is  present  or  not. 

Such  an  idea  as  that  of  "  Daddy "  is  known  as  a 
particular  idea.  It  is  so  called  because  it  refers  to  a  par- 
ticular or  concrete  thing.  It  arises  very  early  in  the  life 
of  a  baby,  and  it  is  found  also  in  the  higher  animals. 
The  delight  of  a  dog  in  the  presence  of  his  master  is 
fairly  strong  evidence  that  he  recognises  him  ,as  the  same 
object  as  he  has  seen  previously.  Although  the  dog  can- 
not use  words,  he  appears  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
some  which  are  spoken  to  him.  If  his  master's  name  is 
mentioned,  he  seems  to  act  as  if  he  had  a  clear  idea  of  him. 

Now  even  the  particular  thing  changes  from  time  to 
time.  The  baby's  father  may  have  a  different  coat  on 
when  he  appears  on  a  given  occasion.  He  may  change  his 
tie  or  his  collar.  Sometimes  he  is  seen  sitting,  sometimes 
stan'ding,  sometimes  he  is  talking,  sometimes  he  is  silent. 
He  may  be  seen  side-face  or  full-face,  or  even  from  the 
back.  But  in  the  early  stages  these  differences  are  not 
noted.  If  they  are  very  great,  the  father  is  not  recognised 
at  all ;  he  is  merely  perceived.  If  they  are  not  very  great, 
there  is  sufiicient  likeness  to  evoke  recognition,  and  the 
differences  are  ignored.  During  a  period  of  experiences 
of  this  kind  the  particular  idea  becomes  more  elastic.  The 
essential  points  of  Hkeness — still,  however,  without  being 
attended  to  separately — stand  out  more  clearly  and  evoke 


IDEATION.  Ill 

recoguition  more  readily  in  spite  of  differences  in  the 
percepts  as  they  recur.  In  other  Avoi'ds  the  particular  idea 
is  becoming  a  vague  generic  idea,  though  a  generic  idea  of 
a  particular  individual.  The  points  of  likeness  which 
determine  recognition  may  be  so  few  that  another  man  in 
the  distance  may  be  taken  for  "  Daddy."  The  child  is 
vaguely  conscious  of  similarity,  though  there  is  no  definite 
cognition  of  what  constitutes  the  likeness. 

In  a  similar  way  the  child  may  form  generic  ideas  of 
classes  of  objects.  He  has  formed,  let  us  say,  a  particular 
idea  of  his  own  "pussy."  And  this  has  so  far  developed 
that  he  can  recognise  "  pussy  "  in  various  attitudes.  He 
may  see  other  cats  without  definitely  noticing  differ- 
ences and  apply  the  term  "  pussy  "  to  those  also. 

M.  Itard,  in  relating  his  attempts  at  developing  the 
intelligence  of  the  wild  boy  of  Aveyron  (whom  he  named 
Victor),  records  a  marked  difficulty  in  arriving  at  the 
generic  idea  ironi  the  jjcirticular  idea.  "Thus  every  book 
which  was  not  the  one  which  he  had  in  his  room  was  not  a 
book  for  Victor  ;  and  for  him  to  decide  to  give  it  the  same 
name,  it  was  necessary  that  a  perfect  resemblance  should 
make  it  appear  identical  with  the  other.  .  .  .  Whence 
arose  this  strange  peculiarity  ?  It  was  due,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  to  a  keenness  of  visual  observation  which 
necessarily  resulted  from  the  special  education  given  to 
the  sense  of  sight.  [Victor  could  not  speak,  and  his 
hearing  was  defective.]  I  had  so  exercised  this  sense 
....  that  between  two  similar  bodies,  there  were 
always,  for  eyes  thus  trained,  some  points  of  disagreement 
which  led  him  to  believe  in  an  essential  difference.  The 
origin  of  the  error  being  thus  discovered,  it  became  easy 
to  provide  a  remedy  for  it ;  it  was  to  establish  the 
practical  identity  of  the  objects  by  demonstrating  to  the 
pupil  the  identity  of  their  use  and  properties ;  .  .  .  . 
in  one  word,  it  was  a  question  of  teaching  him  to  consider 
the  objects  no  longer  with  respect  to  their  difference,  but 
according  to  their  points  of  likeness."  ^ 

'Itard,   liaj)ports  et  Memoires  «w  le  Smivayt  de  ^Av^J/ro)l,   pp, 
81,  82. 


112  IDEATION. 

The  processes  of  acquiring  the  particular  and  generic  ideas 
wliich  we  have  briefly  examined,  are  included  by  many 
Avriters  vinder  perception  and  the  imagination  which  follows 
it.  It  should  be  noted,  once  again,  that  we  have  limited  the 
term  perception  to  the  simpler  pi'ocesses  involving  an 
awareness  of  external  objects  and  the  adaptation  of  one's 
movements  to  them,  Avitliout  definite  recognition  of  them 
as  things  of  which  one  has  had  experience  before.  It  is 
obviously  difficult  to  draw  a  clear  line  between  the  simpler 
and  the  more  complex  process.  The  former  gradually 
merge  into  the  latter.  And  this  development  begins  very 
early.  The  mere  seusori-motor  reaction  takes  on  more 
and  more  meaning,  it  becomes  more  and  more  familiar  ; 
in  other  words  a  particular  or  generic  idea  is  developed, 
and  tends  to  be  re-excited  whenever  attention  dwells  upon 
the  given  object,  whether  presented  as  percept  or  image, 
instead  of  passing  on  to  something  else.  On  the  physio- 
logical side  we  may  suppose,  as  already  indicated,  that 
other  cortical  cells  are  excited  by  impulses  proceeding  from 
the  cells  concerned  in  the  lower  perceptual  processes. 

It  matters  little  whether  the  term  perception  is  Hmited  to 
the  simpler  processes  or  extended  to  cover  the  higher  ones 
which  begin  to  develop  from  them  almost  as  soon  as 
experience  commences.  In  Avhichever  Avay  we  use  the 
term,  the  chief  thing  is  to  understand  exactly  what  we 
mean  by  it.  As  Hobbes  says :  "  Words  are  wise  men's 
counters,  they  do  but  reckon  by  them,  but  they  are  the 
money  of  fools." 

The  whole,  therefore,  of  what  has  already  been  written 
in  this  chapter  may  be,  and  usually  is,  included  under 
the  rubrics  oi  perception  and  imagination.  It  is,  indeed, 
impossible  to  fix  a  definite  boundary  between  perception 
and  ideation.  "For,"  as  M.  Itard  writes,  "so  intimate 
is  the  connexion  which  unites  the  physical  man  [i.e. 
man  as  a  mei'e  perceiving  creature]  to  the  intellectual 
man  that,  although  their  respective  domains  appear, 
and  are  indeed,  very  distinct,  all  is  confused  at  the 
boundaries  between  these  two  orders  of  functioning. 
Their  development  is  simultaneous  and  theii'  influence 
reciprocal.       Thus    while    I    was    confining    myself     to 


IDEATION.  113 

exercise  tlie  senses  of  our  savage,  the  intellect  took 
its  share  of  the  cultivation  exclusively  intended  for 
the  education  of  the  sense  organs,  and  according  to 
the  same  order  of  development.  It  is  obvious,  indeed, 
that  in  training  the  senses  to  perceive  and  to  distinguish 
new  objects,  I  was  forcing  the  attention  to  dwell  upon 
them,  tiie  judgment  to  compare  them,  and  the  memory 
to  retain  them."  ^ 

But  tlie  young  child  very  soon  acquires  ideas  of  a 
higher  order.  He  not  only  has  ideas  of  the  objects  which 
he  sees  and  feels  around  him  as  wholes,  but  he  gets  ideas 
of  their  different  qualities  and  of  the  relations  existing 
between  them.  At  first  thought,  it  might  be  said  that  if 
he  has  ideas  of  them  as  wholes,  these  ideas  must  include 
the  different  qualities  possessed  by  the  wholes  and  at  any 
rate  some  of  their  relations.  Thus  a  child  who  has  seen 
a  kitten  and  a  big  dog  playing  together,  who  has  thus 
acquired  an  idea  of  each  of  them  separately,  and  also  an 
idea  of  them  together,  might  be  said  to  have  some  know- 
ledge of  the  smallness  of  the  kitten  and  of  the  large  size 
of  the  dog,  as  well  as  of  the  relation  which  we  express  by 
saying  that  the  dog  is  larger  than  the  kitten  or  that  the 
kitten  is  smaller  than  the  dog.  In  a  sense  he  may  be  said 
to  be  awai'e  of  these  things.  But  his  awareness  is  a  dim 
one :  they  are  imiilicit  in  his  particular  ideas.  They  have 
to  be  dragged  out,  or  abstracted,  i.e.  attended  to  separately, 
before  they  become  explicit  in  his  consciousness.  Wlien 
this  occurs  we  get  what  are  called  abstract  ideas. 

In  the  early  stages,  however,  children  do  not  attend 
sepai'ately  to  the  qualities  of  things.  They  apprehend 
them  as  wholes.  This  can  be  noticed  even  later,  when  they 
have  already  begun  to  notice  many  qualities  separately. 
Thus  the  drawings  of  infants  show  that  although  they 
recognise  animals  very  well  as  wholes,  they  fail  to  notice 
clearly  all  the  parts.  One  of  the  best  drawings  in  a  class 
of  infants  of  about  four  years  of  age  showed  a  horse  with 
no  definite  head  and  seven  legs.  The  child  had  not 
attended   to  the  legs  sufiicieutly  to   note   their  number. 

'  Itard,  op.  cii.,  p.  74, 
FUND.  PSY.  8 


114  IDEATION. 

(Most  cliildreu  of  this  age  can  count  up  to  4.  At  any 
rate  they  can  distinguish  between  four  and  seven,  even 
without  counting.)  To  take  another  example,  children 
taught  entirely  by  the  Look-aud-Say  Method  of  reading 
are  able  after  a  very  few  weeks  to  read  simple  sentences, 
although  they  are  not  aware  of  the  letters  of  which  the 
words  are  composed.  In  some  cases  they  cannot  spell  the 
words  at  all. 

How,  then,  do  these  qualities  and  relations,  hidden,  as 
it  were,  in  the  concrete  things,  ever  come  to  be  abstracted, 
or  attended  to  separately  ?  For  simplicity's  sake  let  us 
consider  a  thing  as  a  bimdle  of  qualities.  Thus  a  piece 
of  chalk  is  hard,  rough,  white,  small,  square  in  section, 
and  is  used  for  making  marks.  A  ruler  may  be  hard, 
smooth,  brown,  large,  round  in  section,  and  useful  to  the 
child  as  something  to  hold  and  bang  on  the  table.  These 
two  things  are  very  different.  But  even  here  there  is 
some  quality  common  to  both  —  hardness. 

On  the  other  hand  we  may  have  two  objects  which  have 
many  qualities  in  common,  and  few  differences.  Thus  I 
might  have  two  rulers  alike  in  every  respect  except  in 
colour,  one  being  brown  and  the  other  black.  Again  there 
are  many  objects  which  have  several  qualities  in  common, 
and  several  which  are  different.  Lastly  there  are  some 
olijects  which  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the  same, 
and  some  which  are  totally  different. 

Now  if  the  objects  of  this  world  did  not  include  any 
which  are  partially  alike  and  pai-tially  different,  that  is, 
if  any  tw^o  objects  selected  Avere  either  totally  alike 
or  completely  different,  it  would  never  be  possible  for 
us  to  have  any  abstract  ideas.  We  should  never  be  able 
to  single  out  qualities  for  special  attention.  Let  the  small 
letters  of  the  alphabet  represent  qualities  of  objects,  and 
for  the  sake  of  simplicity  let  us  suppose  each  object  to 
have  only  three  qualities.  We  should  have  under  the 
system  referred  to  such  combinations  as  a  6  c — d  ef — 
ff  h  i — h  I  m — n  o  j),  and  any  combination  might  be 
repeated  a  number  of  times.  But  we  should  never  get 
such  combinations  as  a  t  c — a  ef — a  d  e — e  g  h — (f  h  Jc. 

To  take  a  concrete  example,  we  could  never  have  a  piece 


IDEATION.  115 

of  chalk  and  a  brown  ruler  iii  the  system,  for  hardness  is 
common  to  both.  We  might  have  a  piece  of  chalk  and 
something  like  the  ruler  in  all  respects  excej)t  any  in 
which  it  is  like  the  chalk  (e.//.  it  would  have  to  be  soft). 
Under  these  circumstances,  we  could  get  a  particular  idea 
of  each  object  in  our  system.  But  we  should  never  have 
an  abstract  idea,  i.e.  an  idea  of  any  of  the  qualities 
separated  from  the  wholes  in  which  they  occur.  "  I  think 
we  may  safely  lay  down  at  the  outset  this  fundamental 
principle,  that  any  total  impression  made  on  the  mind  must 
he  unanalysable,  ivhose  elements  are  never  experienced  apart. 
The  components  of  an  absolutely  changeless  group  of 
not-elsewhere-occurring  attributes  could  never  be  dis- 
criminated. If  all  cold  things  were  wet  and  all  wet 
things  cold,  if  all  hard  things  pricked  our  skin  and  no 
other  things  did  so  ;  is  it  likely  that  we  should  discriminate 
between  coldness  and  wetness,  and  hardness  and  pungency 
respectively  ?  If  all  liquids  were  transparent  and  no  non- 
liquids  were  ti'ansparent,  it  would  be  long  before  we  had 
separate  names  for  liquidity  and  transparency."  ' 

But  the  objects  around  us  are  not  like  this.  We  get, 
for  instance,  things  very  much  alike  in  most  respects  but 
differing  in  one  or  more  qualities.  Thus,  cats  are  very 
much  alike  in  size,  shape,  fur,  and  general  habits.  But 
one  may  be  black,  another  white,  a  third  tabby,  and  so  on. 

Further,  as  we  have  seen,  even  the  same  object, 
especially  if  it  is  a  living  thing,  may  appear  very  different 
at  different  times.  But  at  first  these  differences  ai'e  not 
specifically  attended  to.  If  they  are  great,  the  object  is 
merely  perceived,  not  recognised  as  familiar.  If  they  are 
small,  they  are  ignored.  There  comes  a  time,  however, 
when  the  idea  already  formed  of  the  particular  object  is 
aroused  by  a  percept  which,  though  sufficiently  har- 
monious with  the  idea  to  liave  called  it  up,  yet  presents  a 
difference  whicli  is  not  ignored.  The  idea  and  the  percept 
do  not  fuse  readily.  A  definite  image  of  the  thing  as 
previously  seen  may  be  evoked,  and  attention  may  flit 
backwards   and   forwards   between  this  and  the  percept, 

'  James,  Principles  of  Psyclioloyy,  Vol,  I.,  p.  502. 


116  IDEATION. 

thus  bringing  out.  the  points  of  difference.  The  smooth 
progress  of  experience  is  arrested,  and  the  necessity  for 
further  thought  arises.  This  may  occur  either  in  connec- 
tion with  a  new  percept  of  the  same  thing  {e.g.  Daddy 
may  have  his  face  covered  with  lather  for  shaving)  or  in 
connection  with  a  percept  of  a  new  member  of  a  class  of 
things  {e.g.  a  strange  cat).  In  either  case  the  process 
will  be  of  the  same  kind.  We  will  take  the  latter  as  our 
instance.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  describing 
what  takes  place  Ave  are  not  planning  definitely  what 
always  occurs.  We  are  merely  attempting  to  give  some 
notion  of  the  process  which  supervenes.  And  in  doing 
this,  we  shall  for  the  sake  of  simplicity  describe  the 
business  as  far  more  "cut  and  dried,"  far  more  exact,  far 
more  explicit,  than  it  would  occur  in  the  still  very  vague 
consciousness  of  the  infant. 

Suppose,  then,  that  the  child  has  only  made  acquaintance 
as  yet  with  one  cat — a  black  one  about  the  house.  He 
develops,  after  considerable  perceptual  experience,  an 
adequate  particular  idea  of  this  cat.  Although,  in  the 
formation  of  this  idea,  the  colour  has  an  influence  it  is  not 
attended  to  separately  ;  the  child  is  merely  familiar  with 
the  rvhole.  But  at  length  he  perceives  a  white  cat.  The 
general  appearance  of  this  creature  awakens  his  particular 
idea  of  his  own  cat.  But  the  whiteness  is  out  of  harmony 
with  his  idea.  Probably,  accompanying  his  idea  there  is 
an  image  of  his  black  cat.  If  the  two  cats  appear  together 
in  the  flesh,  the  contrast  in  colour  is  brought  home  still 
more  clearly.  His  attention  is  directed  for  a  moment 
almost  exclusively  to  the  differing  colours.  Whereas  the 
blackness  of  his  cat  was  previously  bound  up  with  the 
whole  complex  of  equalities,  it  now  stands  out  prominently, 
as  also  does  the  whiteness  of  this  strange  cat.  Either  now 
or  at  some  future  time,  in  connection  with  this  or  similar 
experiences,  he  hears  the  words  hiack  and  white,  and  he 
learns  to  produce  them  himself,  and  to  image  them. 

The  definite  hold  which  he  has  over  these  words  (for  he 
can  produce  or  image  them  at  will)  enables  him  to  fix 
his  attention  more  definitely  on  the  discriminated  quahties 
corresponding  to  them.     Although  such   cjualities   never 


IDEATION.  117 

occur  except  iu  counectiou  with  many  other  impressions, 
he  is  able  to  dii-ect  his  attention  ahnost  exclusively  to 
them  by  the  help  of  the  words.  He  has  obtained  two 
abstract  ideas,  and  he  has  done  this  as  the  result  of  the 
comparison  of  two  things  which  are  alike  in  most  respects, 
but  which  differ  iu  one  at  least. 

But  these  qualities,  white  and  hlach,  having  once  been 
singled  out  by  attention,  will  now  be  noticed  in  other 
complexes.  Paper,  snow,  clouds,  the  table-cloth,  the 
ceiling,  and  the  sheets  of  the  bed  are  also  white.  The 
child  will  notice  this  quality  in  many  such  objects  of  his 
environment.  The  repetition  of  the  word  v)hite  by  those 
around  him  will  greatly  assist  this  concentration  of  his 
attention,  and,  as  he  imitates  the  word  himself,  he  will  gain 
still  fii'mer  control  of  this  new  idea.  Similarly  with  black. 
Coal,  ink,  the  fire-grate,  boots,  and  many  other  objects  which 
he  sees  are  black,  and  he  hears  them  so  called  by  the 
persons  surrounding  him.  In  this  way  he  generalises  each 
abstract  idea,  i.e.  he  sees  that  it  is  an  element  iu  a  number 
of  things  differing  in  other  respects.  He  has  formed  ideas 
of  white  and  black  things.  He  has  not  merely  an  abstract 
idea  in  the  case  of  each  quality,  but  a  general  idea,  i.e.  an 
idea  of  a  class  of  things  possessing  the  quality. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  processes  of  abstraction  and 
generalisation  are  inextricably  intermingled.  The  abstract 
and  the  general  are  not  two  separate  ideas :  they  are  so 
intimately  connected  that  they  may  be  considered  as 
obverse  and  reverse  of  one  and  the  same  idea. 

The  formation  of  abstract  and  general  ideas  does  not 
usually  take  place  in  the  "  cut-and-dried  "  fashion  which 
a  definite  outline  of  it  might  lead  one  to  suppose.  In 
one  case  on  record,  however, — that  of  the  wild  boy  of 
Aveyron — what  usually  goes  on  in  more  or  less  hap- 
hazard fashion,  aided  by  the  stimulus  of  older  persons 
and  the  words  they  use,  though  not  methodically  directed 
by  them,  had  to  be  definitely  caused  by  carefully 
arranged  procedure.  M.  Itard  lias  left  us  a  detailed 
description  of  the  way  in  which  he  aroused  abstract  and 
general  ideas  in  the  mind  of  a  boy  who  could  neither  talk 
nor  understand  spoken  language.     He  writes  as  follows: — 


118  IDEATION. 

"  I  was  entering  now  into  the  field  of  abstractions,  and 
I  entered  into  it  with  the  fear  that  I  should  not  be  able  to 
penetrate  into  it,  or  that  I  should  soon  find  myself  stopped 
by  insurmountable  difficulties.  There  were  none  at  all ; 
and  my  first  demonstration  was  seized  at  once,  although  it 
dealt  with  one  of  the  most  abstract  qualities  of  bodies — 
that  of  extension.  I  took  two  books  bound  alike  but 
with  pages  of  different  size :  one  was  an  8vo,  the  other 
an  IBmo.  I  touched  the  first.  Victor  opened  his  note- 
book [in  which  he  had  the  words  he  knew],  and  pointed 
with  his  finger  to  the  word  looh}  I  touched  the  second, 
the  pupil  indicated  again  the  same  word.  I  repeated  the 
operation  several  times,  and  always  with  the  same  result. 

"  I  then  took  the  smaller  book,  and,  holding  it  to  Victor, 
I  made  him  spread  his  hand  flat  on  the  cover.  The  latter 
was  almost  completely  covered.  I  induced  him  next  to  do 
the  same  thing  on  the  Svo  book  ;  his  hand  scarcely 
covered  a  half  of  it.  In  order  that  he  could  make  no 
mistake  with  respect  to  my  intention,  I  called  his  attention 
to  the  part  which  remained  uncovered,  and  tried  to  get 
him  to  stretch  out  his  fingers  towards  that  part.  This  he 
could  not  do  without  uncovering  a  portion  equal  to  that 
which  he  succeeded  in  covering.  After  this  experience, 
which  demonstrated  to  my  pupil  in  such  palpable  fashion 
the  difference  in  extension  of  these  two  objects,  I  asked 
again  for  their  names.  Victor  hesitated  ;  he  felt  that  the 
same  word  could  no  longer  be  applied  without  distinction  to 
two  things  which  he  had  just  found  unequal.  It  was  just  to 
get  him  to  this  point  that  I  was  waiting.  I  now  wrote  the 
word  hook  on  two  cards,  and  placed  one  of  them  on  each 
book.  I  then  wrote  on  a  third  card  the  word  large,  and 
the  word  small  on  a  fourth.  I  placed  these  by  the  side  of 
the  first  cards,  one  on  the  Svo  and  the  other  on  the  ISmo 
book.  After  having  caused  Victor  to  notice  this  arrange- 
ment, I  took  up  the  tickets  again,  mixed  them  up  for  some 
time,  and  then  gave  them  to  him  to  be  replaced.  They 
were  put  back  properly. 


'  The  word  is  Hrre  in  the  originah     But  it  has  been  thought  best 
to  translate  everything. 


IDEATION.  119 

"  Had  I  been  iiiiderstood  ?  Had  the  respective  meanings 
of  the  words  larcje  aud  small  been  grasped  ?  In  order  to 
have  both  the  certainty  and  the  proof  of  it,  I  proceeded  in 
the  following  way.  I  sent  for  two  nails  of  unequal  length. 
I  had  them  compared  [by  Victor]  in  almost  the  same  way 
as  in  the  case  of  the  books.  Then,  having  written  on  two 
cards  the  word  nail,  I  gave  them  to  him  without  adding  to 
them  the  two  adjectives  large  and  small,  hoping  that,  if  my 
preceding  lesson  had  been  thoroughly  grasped,  he  would 
apply  to  the  nails  the  same  signs  of  relative  size  which  had 
served  him  in  establishing  the  diffei'ence  in  dimension  of 
the  two  books.  He  did  it  with  a  promptitude  which  made 
the  proof  all  the  more  conclusive.  Such  was  the  pro- 
cedure by  which  I  gave  him  the  idea  of  the  qualities  of 
extension.  I  employed  it  with  the  same  success  to  make 
intelligible  the  signs  which  represent  the  other  sensible 
qualities  of  bodies,  such  as  those  of  colour,  of  weight,  of 
hardness,  etc."  ^ 

Reverting  to  our  noiTnal  child  whom  we  have  sup- 
posed to  be  dealing  with  cats  instead  of  books,  and 
who  has  just  acquired  by  means  of  a  similar  process  of 
comparison  the  ideas  of  black  and  ivhite,  we  may  ask — 
What,  meanwhile,  has  happened  to  his  original  particular 
idea  of  his  own  cat  ?  It  can  still  be  awakened  as  before. 
But  it  is  richer.  When  it  arises  it  tends  to  bring  with  it 
the  traces  of  his  comj^arison.  He  can  now  say,  or  at  any 
rate  think,  Mij  cat  is  black.  He  has  tico  ideas — one  of  the 
whole  concrete  cat,  and  one  of  the  colour  ;  aud  he  recog- 
nises that  the  colovir  is  part  of,  i.e.  a  quality  of,  the  whole 
cat. 

He  has,  then,  gone  through  processes  of  analysis 
(singling  out  the  colour)  and  synthesis  (connecting  the 
colour  with  the  whole).  And  he  can  also  say  in  reference 
to  the  other  cat,  That  cat  is  ivhite.  Further,  his  particular 
idea  of  his  own  cat  has  been  modified  (the  colour  being 
neglected)  so  that  it  will  apply  to  the  strange  cat.  He 
may  not  be  clear  yet  as  to  all  the  other  qualities  possessed 
by  both  cats,  but  he  is  aware  of  the  general  likeness  of  the 

'  Itanl,  op.  cit.,  2)p.  SO,  S7. 


120  IDEATION. 

new  cat  to  his  own  cat.  Indeed  it  is  because  tliis  likeness 
is  so  great  that  the  particular  idea  of  his  own  cat  has 
been  aroused  in  connection  with  this  new  case.  This, 
however,  involves  a  new  idea.  The  original  particular  idea 
of  his  own  cat  is  still  capable  of  arising  and  of  referring 
only  to  that  cat.  But  it  has  given  birth  to  a  new  idea 
referring  to  the  two  cats.  Later,  he  will  perceive  cats 
of  other  coloui-s,  and  of  different  sizes.  The  process  of 
comparison  will  take  place  again,  and  he  may  obtain 
abstract  ideas  of  other  qualities  in  the  same  way  as  he 
gained  those  of  ivliite  and  hlach.  His  new  idea  referring 
to  the  two  cats  will  be  aroused  again  and  will  be  further 
modified  to  cover  these  additional  cases. 

Gradually,  then,  while  still  retaining  the  particular  idea 
of  his  own  cat,  he  will  develop  an  idea  applicable  to  an 
indefinite  number  of  cats.  This  is  a  generic  idea.  We 
cannot  yet  call  it  an  abstract  idea,  for  there  is  at  present 
no  definite  consciousness  of  the  properties  which  are 
essential.  There  certainly  is  some  awareness,  however 
hazy,  of  the  general  characteristics  of  a  cat ;  otherwise 
the  child  would  not  be  able  to  recognise  a  new  cat  Avhen 
it  presents  itself,  nor  could  he  refuse  to  give  the  name  to  a 
dog.  But  if  the  child,  at  this  stage,  were  asked  what  a 
cat  is,  he  could  only  reply  by  pointing  to  one ;  he  could 
not  describe  or  define  one. 

A  large  number  of  the  child's  ideas  of  classes  of  things 
remain  for  a  long  time  in  this  state ;  not  a  few  continue 
so  throughout  life.  There  is  sufficient  acquaintance  with 
the  essential  make-up  of  each  of  the  classes  of  things,  but 
no  thorough  analysis  has  been  made.  The  child  can 
readily  use  his  generic  idea  in  recognising  and  naming 
objects  of  the  class ;  but  he  cannot  specify  exactly  what 
the  idea  includes  and  excludes.  Under  such  circumstances 
it  is  useless  to  ask  him  for  a  definition.  As  a  general  rule, 
it  is  better  to  require  him  to  say  or  do  something  which 
demonstrates  his  grasp  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  than 
to  ask  him  to  define  it.  Suppose  the  word  in  cjuestion  is 
plant.  The  teacher  may  ask  the  little  one  to  mention 
some  plants,  to  bring  him  a  plant,  to  draw  one,  or  to  say 
something    about  plants.     If    the   child    responds  Intel- 


IDEATION. 


121 


ligently  to  such  requirements,  it  is  obvious  that  he  pos- 
sesses a  fairly  satisfactory  generic  idea. 

As  we  have  ah'eady  seen,  a  complex  of  qualities  occurring 
again  and  again  will  not  be  broken  up  into  its  elements 
unless  each  of  those  qualities  can  be  apprehended  sepa- 
rately in  other  parts  of  experience.  The  child,  therefore, 
will  not  be  able  to  enumerate  all  the  essential  properties 
of  a  cat  until  he  has  had  further  experience  in  which  each 
of  those  properties  can  be  singled  out  by  comparisons 
similar  to  those  described  in  the  case  of  hlach  and  white. 
Such  comparisons  are  continually  occurring  in  all  parts  of 
his  perceptual  experience,  i.e.  in  connection  with  many  of 
the  objects  with  which  he  conies  to  deal.  After  much 
comparison  of  this  kind,  aided  by  language,  the  child  is  at 
length  in  possession  of  a  large  stock  of  abstract  ideas,  and 
may,  if  he  returns  to  a  more  careful  observation  of  cats, 
at  last  arrive  at  a  very  exact  knowledge  of  the  distinguish- 
ing features  of  the  feline  race. 

And  what  he  can  now  do  in  the  case  of  cats,  he  can  do 
also  for  many  other  classes  of  things.  He  has  a  large 
number  of  labels  from  which  selections  can  be  made  to 
describe  or  define  any  objects  which  he  chooses  to  examine 
carefully.  And  in  the  process  of  such  examination,  he 
not  only  gains  more  command  over  the  labels  which  he 
already  possesses,  but  he  acquires  many  new  ones  on 
account  of  further  comparisons  which  he  is  led  to  make. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  systematic  lessons  in  observation 
are  so  valuable. 

We  see,  then,  how  the  vague  ideas  of  classes  of  things 
which  we  have  called  generic  are  gradually  developed  by 
analysis  and  synthesis  until  they  become  explicitly  general 
and  abstract.  Such  refinement  reaches  its  consummation 
in  the  definition,  which  clearly  states,  and  thus  helps  to 
fix  in  the  mind,  the  net  result  of  the  abstractions.  This  is 
a  great  help  wherever  the  exact  thought  of  science  is 
required.  But  it  is  necessary  only  in  such  cases.  In 
other  spheres  we  can  get  along  with  far  less  distinctness 
of  meaning.  Indeed,  if  the  bulk  of  our  mental  energy 
were  consumed  in  fixing  definitely  the  meaning  of  every 
term  we  employ,  we  should  often  fail  to  appreciate  the 


122 


IDEATION. 


total  effect  of  the  ideational  constructions  wliicli  we  frame. 
In  order  to  enjoy  the  view  of  a  chain  of  mountains,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  count  the  peaks  or  measure  their  height. 
In  order  to  appreciate  a  beautiful  poem,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  define  exactly  the  meaning  of  all  the  words. 

Many  individuals,  indeed,  fail  to  recognise  the  beautiful 
because  of  their  tendency  to  over-analysis.  And  t-eachers 
would  do  well  to  remember  this  fact  when  dealing  with 
literature  in  school.  Of  course,  some  amount  of  meaning 
is  necessary.  Otherwise  the  thing  could  not  be  appre- 
ciated at  all.  But  the  search  for  meaning  must  not 
kill  the  intei'est  in  the  whole,  as  so  often  happens. 
As  Professor  Welton  suggests,  "  with  younger  boys  and 
girls  the  passages  of  literatui-e  intended  to  rouse 
an  emotional  interest  should  be  simple  in  idea  and 
expression,  so  as  to  require  no  extended  activity  of  the 
intellectual  interest.  For  this  is  likely  to  remain  attached 
to  tlie  poem  and  to  be  fatal  to  any  real  emotional  effect. 
A  silent  reading  to  get  the  drift  of  the  passage  ;  a  question 
or  two  to  make  sure  that  it  has  been  grasped ;  then  an 
impressive  reading  by  the  teacher  is  the  most  probable 
road  to  success."  ^ 

A  large  number  of  our  ideas,  therefore,  are  allowed  to 
remain,  and  quite  rightly,  in  the  generic  or,  at  least,  the 
vaguely  abstract  stage.  We  know  quite  well  enough  for 
our  purposes  what  we  mean,  though  we  cannot  state 
explicitly  all  the  properties  which  are  essential  to  the 
constitution  of  the  classes  of  things  to  which  we  are 
referring. 

It  is  now  obvious  that  the  process  of  ideation  in  its 
early  stages  is  nothing  other  than  observation.  These 
ea»ly  processes  of  ideation  spring  out  of  the  child's  per- 
ceptions, being  accelerated  by  the  use  of  words  on  the 
part  of  the  people  around  him,  by  his  imitation  of  those 
words,  1)y  his  use  of  them  in  new  connections,  and  by  the 
consequent  fixing  of  their  meanings. 

There  has  been  considerable  discussion  among  philo- 
sophers and  psychologists  as   to  whether  we  can   think 

'   The  Psycholoyy  of  Education,  pp.  243,  244, 


IDEATION.  123 

"without  words.  We  have  ah-eady  referred  to  the  concept 
as  the  thought  which  is  aroused  by  a  word.  This  is 
good  enough  for  practical  purposes.  For  in  the  immense 
majority  of  cases  the  two  occur  together.  We  thinlc  by 
means  of,  and  by  the  aid  of,  words.  It  is  not  necessary,  of 
course,  to  utter  them,  though  when  people  ai'e  thinking  for- 
cibly they  often  do.  The  faintest  image  of  a  word,  whether 
visual,  auditory,  or  kinsesthetic,  or  a  combination  of  some 
of  these,  is  sufficient.  So  faint,  indeed,  are  these  images, 
and  so  close  is  our  attention  on  the  meanings,  and  on  any 
other  images  which  may  arise,  that  we  ordinarily  fail  to 
notice  the  "  inner  speech,"  the  verbal  accompaniment 
to  our  thoughts. 

It  might,  however,  be  well  to  extend  our  definition  by 
saying  that  the  concept  is  the  thought  aroused  by  a 
word  or  the  equivalent  of  a  word.  For  in  some  cases  other 
signs  are  used  instead  of  words.  To  the  mathematician 
(a  +  hy  =  0,2  4-  2ah  +  &^  expresses  thoughts  about  quan- 
tity which  could  be  expressed  in  words,  but  which  are 
more  readily  expressed  b}^  the  signs  in  question.  A  nod  of 
the  head,  a  smile,  or  a  wink,  may  often  mean  to  us  quite  as 
much  as  a  word  (though  often  we  subconsciously  translate 
them  into  words).  It  is  also  possible  to  use  the  images  of 
the  things  themselves  instead  of  words.  Thus  the  chess- 
player thinks  of  the  consequences  of  a  certain  move,  not 
necessarily  in  woi'ds,  but  in  terms  of  images  ;  he  "  sees  " 
the  board  with  its  chessmen  as  it  would  be  if  certain 
moves  were  made.  In  perception,  too,  we  often  identify 
objects  without  naming  them.  Here  the  percept  itself 
takes  the  place  of  the  word.  With  these  comparatively 
few  exceptions,  however,  thought  and  language  develop 
together. 

As  we  have  already  hinted,  the  language  employed  need 
not  be  the  spoken  form  which  is  commonly  utilised.  Thus 
Laura  Bridgman  and  Helen  Keller,  two  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  blind-deaf  mutes,  have  made  remarkable 
progress  in  thovight  without  any  assistance  from  ordinai'y 
speech.  It  is  instructive  to  read  what  Archbishop  Whately 
wrote  more  than  fifty  years  ago  on  the  subject  of  Laura 
Bridgman. 


124  IDfiATlOJf. 

"  There  have  been,"  he  wrote,  "  some  very  interesting 
accounts  published,  by  travellers  in  America,  and  by  per- 
sons residing  there,  of  a  girl  named  Laura  Bridgman,  who 
has  been,  from  birth,  not  only  Deaf-and-Dumb,  but  also 
Blind.  She  has,  however,  been  taught  the  finger-language, 
and  even  to  read  what  is  printed  in  raised  characters,  and 
also  to  write. 

"  The  remarkable  circumstance  in  reference  to  the 
present  subject  is  that,  when  she  is  alone,  her  fingers  are 
generally  observed  to  he  moving,  though  the  signs  are  so 
slight  and  imperfect  that  others  cannot  make  out  what  she  is 
thinking  of.     But  if  they  inquire  of  her,  she  will  tell  them. 

"  It  seems  that,  having  once  learnt  the  use  of  Signs, 
she  finds  the  necessity  of  them  as  an  Instrument  of 
Thought,  when  thinking  of  anything  beyond  mere  indi- 
vidual objects  of  sense. 

"And  doubtless  everyone  else  does  the  same;  though  in 
our  case  no  one  can  (as  in  the  case  of  Laura  Bridgman) 
see  the  operation ;  nor,  in  general,  can  it  be  heard  ;  though 
some  few  persons  have  a  habit  of  occasionally  audibly 
talking  to  themselves,  or,  as  it  is  called,  '  thinking  aloud.' 
But  the  signs  we  commonly  use  in  silent  reflection  are 
merely  mental  images,  usually  of  uttered  words  :  and  these 
doubtless  are  such  as  could  be  hardly  at  all  imderstood  by 
another,  even  if  uttered  audibly.  For  we  usually  think  in 
a  kind  of  shorthand  (if  one  may  use  the  expression),  like  the 
notes  one  sometimes  takes  down  on  paper  to  help  the 
memory,  which  consist  of  a  word  or  two — or  even  a  letter — 
to  suggest  a  whole  sentence ;  so  that  such  notes  would  be 
unintelligible  to  anyone  else. 

"  It  has  been  observed  also  that  this  girl,  when  asleep, 
and  doubtless  dreaming,  has  her  fingers  frequently  in 
motion  ;  being  in  fact  talking  in  her  sleep."  ^ 

The  spoken  form  of  language  is  certainly  the  most  con- 
venient, especially  where  rapid  and  easy  communication 
with  others  is  desired.  Hand-signs  and  gestures,  however, 
can  be  used,  and  often  are.     But  with  the  spoken  form, 

>  Whately,  Elements  of  Logic,  Ninth  Edition,  p.  13  (footnote). 
One  word  has  been  changed  to  bring  Whately's  language  into  harmony 
with  current  practice. 


IDEATION.  125 

men  can  go  on  talking  even  when  their  hands  and  other 
portions  of  their  bodies  are  employed  with  work.  It  is 
considered  by  some  that  this  fact  is  most  important. 
Primitive  men  would  probably  have  remained  much  longer 
on  lower  levels  of  thought  if  they  had  not  discovered  the 
utility  of  oral  speech.  For  with  their  hands  employed  so 
constantly  in  ministering  to  their  needs,  they  would  have 
had  little  opportunity  for  communication  one  with  another. 
And  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  in  communi- 
cation one  with  another  that  speech  and  thought  develop. 
We  tend  to  forget  this  fact  in  these  days,  when  we  have  a 
rich  vocabulary  ready-made,  and  when  it  appears  possible 
for  solitary  thinkers  to  go  on  communing  with  themselves 
for  lengthy  periods.  But  even  here  careful  analysis  will 
reveal  the  social  stimulus.  Even  the  recluse  is  largely 
stimulated  by  the  impulse  to  communicate  with  others. 
Although  he  will  scarcely  admit  it  to  himself,  he  is  con- 
stantly imagining  a  community  of  souls  with  whom  he  can 
converse.  And  if  he  puts  pen  to  paper,  he  is  dimly  con- 
scious that  someone — perhaps  after  his  death — will  read 
what  he  writes. 

It  is  perhaps  partly  on  account  of  an  additional  stimulus 
to  communicate  witli  others  that  mentally  defective  child- 
ren have  been  found  to  improve  in  speech  during  a  course 
of  handwork.  The  things  placed  in  their  hands  are  a 
direct  stimulus  to  do  something  with  them.  But  they  can 
only  achieve  what  they  desire  by  listening  to  the  directions 
of  their  teacher,  and  by  asking  for  certain  things  which 
they  require. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  teachers  of  the  past  genera- 
tion have  failed  to  appreciate  the  importance  of  stimulating 
the  children  to  express  themselves  in  good  language.  They 
have  often  been  satisfied  with  mere  listening  on  the  part 
of  the  children,  followed  by  the  answering  of  a  few  questions. 
But  the  answering  of  a  question  usually  necessitates  only 
a  few  words — sometimes  only  one.  As  a  consequence 
many  children  have  grown  up  without  ever  having  been 
required  to  give  a  connected  account  of  anything.  In  these 
days,  however,  the  importance  of  getting  children  to  talk 
at   length  on  what  they  have  seen  or  heard  or  done,  is 


126  IDEATION. 

gradually  becoming  recognised  ;  and  after  many  modern 
school  lessons,  we  find  several  cliildreu  called  out  to  recount 
in  full  what  they  can  remember  of  the  matter  which  has 
been  dealt  with. 

Some  psychologists  believe  that  thought  can  occur  not 
only  without  images  of  the  things  specified,  but  without 
words  or  any  other  mental  support.  Some  people  whose 
powers  of  introspection  can  be  relied  upon  declare  that 
they  often  have  thoughts,  or  directions  of  attention  to 
certain  things,  without  any  other  mental  accompaniment. 
"  It  may  possibly  be  (I  say  this  hesitatingly)  that  their 
apprehension  of  meaning  is  purely  physiological — done  by 
a  not-felt  attitude  ;  at  least,  we  have  found  cases  of  recog- 
nition in  which  neither  felt-attitude  nor  verbal  fringe  could 
be  discovered  by  introspection,  so  that  for  all  we  could 
tell  the  act  of  recognition  was  a  purely  physiological  I'eflex 
matter :  the  organism  fell  into  the  recoguitive  attitude 
without  any  introspectively  discoverable  change  in  con- 
sciousness." ' 

This  may  be  so.  But  it  does  not  diminish  the  necessity 
of  percepts,  images  and  words  in  the  early  stages.  In 
other  words,  this  imageless  thought  can  only  arise  after  a 
great  deal  of  conception  has  taken  place  with  the  usual 
mental  supports.  Thus  Professor  Huey  says  :  "  Doubtless 
it  is  a  development  from  the  other  ;  and  doubtless  there 
are  all  stages  between  the  extremes."  -  The  thought  centres, 
when  once  awakened  and  developed  through  processes  of 
perception  and  imagination,  may  finally  be  able  to  function 
alone.  But  even  if  such  cases  of  "  pure  "  thought  do  occur, 
it  still  remains  true  that  under  normal  circumstances 
thought  is  greatly  helped  and  clarified  by  speech.  Every- 
one has  surely  had  the  experience  of  a  thought,  or  series 
of  thoughts,  which  were  anything  but  clear  and  precise 
until  expressed  in  words.  Most  teachers  have  frequently 
been  mortified  to  discover  the  incompleteness  and  vague- 
ness of  their  own  ideas  when  tliey  have  had  to  state  them 
to  their  pupils.     And  some  'cute  individuals,  desirous  of 

^  Huey,  The  Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Beading,  p.  183, 
■^Ibid.,  pp.  183,  184 


IDEATION.  127 

obtaining  a  good  grip  of  a  subject,  will  arrange  to  give 
lectures  or  lessons  upon  it  to  others,  knowing,  as  they  do, 
that  it  is  only  when  a  man  has  expressed  himself  at  length 
that  he  really  grasps  the  matter  thoroughly. 

Those  nations  which  have  reached  a  high  stage  of  idea- 
tion, which  have  thought  of  a  large  number  of  things,  are 
found  to  possess  a  large  vocabulary,  as  evic^enced  by  the 
size  of  the  dictionaries  of  their  languages..  A  person  who 
uses  language  freely  and  well  is  one  who  nas  a  free  flow 
of  thoughts.  His  language,  indeed,  as  exprd'ssed  either  in 
speeches  or  books,  is  the  chief,  often  the  only,  means  whereby 
we  become  acquainted  with  his  thoughts. 

There  are,  of  course,  some  reservations  to  be  made.  A 
man  may  hesitate  and  speak  slowly,  not  because  his  thoughts 
are  slow  and  infrequent,  but  because  they  are  so  numerous 
and  rapid  that  they  struggle  with  one  another  for  expres- 
sion. For  though  we  may  have  several  thoughts,  we  have 
only  one  vocal  apparatus. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  man  may  speak  rapidly,  Init  much 
of  his  language  may  be  of  the  "parrot"  variety,  a  species 
of  vocal  glibuess  without  the  corresponding  Ideation.  "  Dis- 
courses at  prayer-meetings,  re-shuffliug  the  same  collec- 
tion of  cant  phrases,  and  the  whole  genus  of  penny-a-line- 
isms  and  newspaper-reporters'  flourishes  give  illusti'ations 
of  this.  '  The  birds  filled  the  tree-tops  with  their  morning 
song,  making  the  air  moist,  cool,  and  pleasant,'  is  a  sen- 
tence I  remember  reading  once  in  a  report  of  some  athletic 
exercises  in  Jerome  Park.  It  was  pi'obably  written  uncon- 
sciously by  the  hurried  reporter,  and  read  uncritically  by 
many  readers."  ^  If,  however,  a  man  is  thoroughly  tested 
by  being  asked  all  sorts  of  questions,  and  if  he  is  able  to 
reply  suitably  to  every  one,  we  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
his  thoughts  are  clear  aud  adequate.  This,  of  course,  is 
the  kind  of  test  which  is  made  in  examinations,  both  oral 
and  written.  And  'cute  examiners  avoid  setting  questions 
which  may  be  ansvveretl  straight  from  a  book,  in  order  to 
ensure  that  the  candidates  are  not  merely  repeating  words 
without  any  definite  meaning. 

'  James,  Principles  of  Paycholoyy,  V(j1.  I. ,  p,  2(i3. 


128  IDEATION. 


Questions  on  Chapter  VII. 

1.  Distinguisli  clearly  between  an  imafjf-  and  an  idt^a. 

2.  A  dog  and  a  child  are  born  on  the  same  day,  and  live  largely  in 
the  same  environment.    Which  is  the  more  intelligent — 

[a)  at  the  end  of  three  months, 
(h)  at  the  end  of  six  years  ? 
How  do  3'ou  explain  the  differences  ? 

3.  How  would  you  satisfy  yourself  that  a  boy  who  can  repeat 
many  of  the  statements  in  his  text-book  really  miderstands  them  ? 

4.  Why  is  it  not  advisable  to  ask  ver}'  j'oung  children  for  defini- 
tions of  the  words  they  use?  How  could  j-ou  be  sure,  without  ask- 
ing for  definitions,  tliat  the  children  understand  those  words  ? 

5.  W^hat  is  an  abstract  idea  ?  Show  bj'  an  example  that  its 
arousal  depends  in  the  first  instance  on  comparison. 

6.  Briefly  enumerate  all  the  facts  which  go  to  show  that  thought 
and  language  are  intimatelj'  connected. 

7.  Many  3'oung  teachers  fall  into  the  error  of  doing  too  much  of 
the  talking  tlieniselves.      Explain  the  nature  of  this  error. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Ideation  (II. )• 

It  has  already  been  sliown  how  important  words  are 
in  fixing  and  preserving  abstract  ideas.  In  some  cases, 
indeed,  thej  take  the  lead  from  the  beginning.  The  pro- 
cess of  abstraction  would  never  occur  at  all  in  many  cases 
except  by  the  aid  of  some  word  or  its  equivalent.  Perhaps 
the  help  of  words  is  nowhere  more  obvious  than  in  the 
sphere  of  number.  Here  the  continual  use  of  the  words 
one,  two,  three,  four  ...  in  connection  with  all  kinds  of 
concrete  objects  gradually  enables  the  idea  of  nvmiber  to 
be  abstracted  from  its  concrete  embodiment.  The  child 
learns  to  say,  one,  two,  three,  four  ...  at  first  by  imita- 
tion, and  often  without  any  attention  to  objects  being 
counted.  He  continues  to  do  it,  still  by  imitjition,  in  deal- 
ing with  things  of  the  same  kind,  as  in  walking  up  steps, 
handling  marbles,  or  balls,  or  beads,  one  after  another. 
Grradually  he  feels  the  appositeness  of  the  names  when 
dealing  with  things  of  the  same  kind.  Yet  for  a  long  time 
he  has  no  distinct  idea  of  number  as  distinguished  from 
the  things.  But  after  a  large  amount  of  experience  of  this 
kind,  he  no  longer  pays  attention  to  the  nature  of  the 
things  to  be  counted.  He  attends  to  the  numbers  denoted 
by  each  of  the  words  one,  two,  three,  four  .  .  .  He  has 
obtained  abstract  ideas  of  the  numbers. 

The  essential  process  in  abstraction,  here  as  elsewhere, 
is  comparison.  There  is  the  same  noticing  of  diiferences 
which  we  have  already  studied.  The  child  contrasts  one, 
two,  three  and  four  marbles.  And  he  seizes  upon  the 
terms  one,  two,  three,  four  to  mark  the  diffei'ences  which 
he  notices.  But  if  he  always  counted  marbles,  he  would 
not  attain  the  purely  abstract  ideas  of  number  which  all 

FUND.  PSY.  129  9 


130  IDEATION. 

normal  children  acquire  so  soon.  He  performs  similar 
operations,  however,  with  many  different  units.  And  in 
this  way  he  comes  to  disentangle  the  numbers  from  the 
concrete  embodiment  in  which  they  always  occur  in  the 
real  world. 

This  involves  a  new  variety  of  comparison — a  seeing  of 
liheness  amid  difference.  Instead  of  noticing  a  difference 
between  things  which  are  in  other  respects  alilie,  he  notices 
liJceness  between  sets  of  things  (three  marbles,  three  balls, 
three  beads  ;  five  marbles,  five  balls,  five  beads  ;  and  so  on) 
in  other  respects  U7ilike.  His  method  is  one  of  isolation 
hy  varying  concomitants.  And  this  isolation  is  possible 
largely  because  a  series  of  words  (one,  two,  three,  four  .  .  .), 
being  the  same  in  spite  of  great  differences  between  the 
concrete  things,  calls  attention  to  a  common  aspect  of  those 
sets  of  things. 

There  are,  thus,  two  fundamental  modes  of  comparison 
on  which  ideation  depends.  They  may  be  called  the 
method  of  difference  and  the  method  of  agreement  re- 
spectively. They  both  depend  upon  the  fact  that  things 
are  partially  alike,  partially  unlike.  In  the  former  case 
we  note  the  quality  because  it  stands  out  as  a  diffei'ence 
between  things  which  are  in  other  respects  alike.  In  the 
latter  case  our  attention  is  drawn  to  the  quality  because  it 
is  a  common  element  in  things  which  are  in  other  respects 
very  different:  it  "  rolls  out"  in  the  mind  on  account  of 
its  continued  presentation  amid  varying  concomitants. 

A  large  number  of  our  higher  abstract  ideas,  i.e.  those 
Avhich  do  not  depend  on  some  obvious  quality  which  is 
likely  to  be  readily  noticed  by  the  method  of  difference, 
are  greatly  helped  in  their  formation  by  the  fact  that  a 
given  word  is  used  in  each  particular  case,  thus  inviting 
our  attention  to  the  point  or  points  of  likeness.  Thus, 
such  ideas  as  those  of  courage,  tvisdom,  temperance,  owe 
much  of  their  existence  as  definite  ideas  to  the  fact  that 
the  use  of  the  same  word  in  a  number  of  differing  cases 
disentangles  a  common  element.  At  the  same  time,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  they  also  owe  something  to  the 
marked  differences  noted  between  the  actions  of  men  who 
are  alike  iti  many  other  respects, ;  between,  for  instance. 


IDEATION.  131 

the  valiant  man  and  the  coward,  the  drunkard  and  the 
sober  man.  We  see,  then,  that  both  methods  co-operate 
in  the  formation  of  our  abstract  ideas. 

The  teacher,  therefore,  in  striving  to  cause  his  pupils  to 
acquire  a  given  idea,  must  make  use  of  both  processes. 
Thus,  in  getting  his  boys  to  form  a  clear  notion  of  imrous 
substances,  he  might  get  them  to  compare  such  things 
as  clay  and  pumice-stone,  or  marble  and  sugar,  with  respect 
to  their  power  of  drawing  up  water  into  themselves. 
(The  essential  nature  of  the  difference  might  be  made 
clear  by  taking  a  coloured  liquid  and  lowering  into  it 
two  glass  tubes,  one  of  ordinary  calibre,  the  other  a 
capillary  tube.  In  the  latter  case  the  liquid  will  rise.) 
When  the  boys  have  noted  the  difference  in  question, 
the  teacher  might  lead  them  to  examine  a  number  of 
other  substances  (blotting-paper,  cane,  lamp-wick,  sponge, 
ordinary  soil)  which,  though  very  different  in  many  ways, 
all  possess  the  quality  of  porosity. 

Most  of  the  cases  which  we  have  examined  up  to  the 
present  are  instances  of  the  formation  of  abstract  ideas 
directly  from  the  concrete  of  actual  experience.  And  the 
maxim.  Proceed  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract,  has  been 
clearly  exemplified.  But  there  are  abstractions  on  various 
levels.  What  is  abstract  when  compared  with  the  concrete 
on  which  it  is  based  may  be  "  concrete  "  when  compared 
with  a  higher  abstraction  of  which  it  forms  one  of  the 
foundations.  Thus,  tvhite,  black,  red,  etc.,  are  abstractions 
from  the  concrete  of  perception.  But  colour  is  a  still 
higher  abstraction,  with  respect  to  which  'white,  black,  and 
red  are  relatively  "  concrete."  ^  And  colotir,  when  compared 
with  other  coordinate  abstractions  such  as  ^veujht,  size, 
form,  etc.,  can  give  rise  to  a  yet  higher  abstraction — 
quality.  If,  then,  we  are  to  move  freely  in  the  world  of 
abstract  thought,  we  must  be  able  to  leave,  for  a  time, 
the  concrete  world  of  perception  which  is  our  necessary 
starting  point.     For,  if  we  always  stick  close  to  that,  we 

1  It  is  important  for  tlie  student  to  grasp  this  wider  meaning  of 
the  term  "concrete."  Further  reference  to  it  will  bo  made  in  the 
next  chapter. 


132  IDEATION. 

shall  find  it  difficult  to  rise  beyond  abstract  ideas  of  the 
first  grade. 

It  may  be  well  to  turn  aside  here  for  a  moment  to 
emphasise  the  significance  of  these  last  remarks  for  teach- 
ing. Let  us  revert  to  the  sphere  of  number.  Many 
teachers  are  so  much  impressed  with  the  necessity  of 
counting  concrete  things  in  the  early  stages  that  they  are 
inclined  to  go  on  dealing  with  actual  things  long  after  the 
time  when  the  child  has  a  clear  notion  of  number  in  the 
abstract.  This  only  hinders  progress.  For  the  concrete 
prevents  the  child  from  making  further  progress  in  the 
abstract  sphere. 

When,  for  instance,  the  child  has  learned  (by  the 
help  of  the  concrete)  to  do  addition  sums,  and  has 
learnt  his  multiplication  table  (also  by  the  help  of  the 
concrete),  he  is  able  to  understand  multiplication  sums 
as  quick  ways  of  doing  addition  without  any  further 
reference  to  the  concrete.  If  I  bring  him  back  to  the 
concrete,  I  shall  only  confuse  him  with  the  variety  and 
complexity  of  that  concrete.  He  works  a  number  of  sums 
such  as  36  +  36  +  36  +  36,  25  +  25  +  25  +  25,  47  -f  47 
_|_  47  -j-  47.  He  can  do  these  without  any  reference  to  the 
concrete,  and  he  will  see  that  if  he  knows  by  his  table  the 
sum  of  6  +  6  +  6  +  6  (4  X  6  =  24)  and  of  3  +  3  +  3  +  3 
(4  X  3  =  12)  and  of  5  +  5  +  5  +  5  (4  X  5  =  20)  there  is 
no  need  to  work  out  the  result  each  time.  He  can  still 
put  his  sums  down  in  four  lines,  though  he  saves  himself 
the  trouble  of  adding  each  number  separately.  Later  he 
will  appreciate  the  "  fag "  of  writing  down  the  same 
number  four  times,  and  will  be  only  too  ready  to  accept 
the  suggestion  to  put  it  down  once  with  a  4  underneath 
to  indicate  that  it  is  to  be  repeated  four  times.  He  has 
acquired  the  more  abstract  idea  of  multiplication ;  and  he 
has  done  it  on  the  basis  of  the  abstract  knowledge  of 
number  which  he  already  possesses.  The  "  concrete  " 
from  which  he  starts  is  the  addition  sum  with  which  he  is 
already  familiar.^     A  reference  at  this  stage  to  the  concrete 

1  "The  old  maxim,  'Proceed  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract,' 
still  holds,  but  the  term  '  concrete  '  has  assumed  a  new  significance." 
— Bagley,  Educational  Values,  p.  49. 


IDEATION.  133 

on  which  his  ideas  of  number  are  based,  and  which  has 
made  it  possible  for  him  to  do  addition,  would  only  con- 
fuse matters. 

It  must  not  be  concluded  that  the  whole  business  of  the 
teacher  consists  in  getting  the  child  away  from  the  concrete 
in  order  that  he  may  roam  for  ever  in  the  region  of  the 
abstract.  The  educational  maxim.  Proceed  from  the 
concrete  to  the  abstract,  has  led  to  much  confusion  in 
the  minds  of  teachers.  Some  have  been  so  impressed 
with  the  words,  Proceed  from  the  concrete,  that  they  have 
been  content  to  remain  in  the  concrete  as  long  as  possible 
— long  after  ascents  to  the  higher  regions  of  the  abstract 
have  been  rendered  possible.  They  have,  in  short,  neglected 
the  implication  of  the  word  Proceed. 

Others  have  gone  to  the  opposite  extreme.  They  seem 
to  have  taken  the  word  Proceed  as  meaning  Get  comjdetely 
aivay  from.  And  they  have  taken  the  abstract  as  their 
fnal  goal.  But  it  is  not  so.  The  abstract,  after  all,  is  an 
artificial  product.  The  world  in  which  the  child  is  to  live 
and  work  is  a  concrete  one.  We  do  not  make  abstractions 
— unless  we  are  mere  philosophers — except  in  order  to 
deal  more  effectively  with  the  corresponding  concrete. 

So  in  arithmetic.  The  child  will  not  gain  great  facility 
in  calculation  unless  he  can  take  his  first,  and  rudimentai-y, 
abstract  ideas  as  a  "  concrete  "  for  still  higher  abstractions. 
But  when  he  has  these,  he  should  apply  them  to  new  con- 
crete cases.  And  they  should  be  real  concrete  cases.  Too 
many  of  our  school  sums  are  not  real ;  they  deal  with  sup- 
posititious cases  which  are  never  likely  to  occur  in  actual 
life— least  of  all  in  the  lives  of  the  pupils.  The  teacher 
should  be  ever  on  the  alert  to  ignore  such  sums,  even 
though  they  occur  in  printed  books.  He  should  try  to 
frame  problems  and  exercises  dealing  with  the  life  which 
is  known  to  the  pupils  and  in  which  they  may  consequently 
be  expected  to  take  some  interest. 

Abstract  ideas  of  relations  between  things  are  usually 
more  tardy  in  arising  than  abstract  ideas  of  qualities. 
The  child  is,  of  course,  aware  of  some  of  these  relations 
in  connection  with  his  other  ideas.  But  it  is  difficult  for 
him  to  single  them  out  for  separate  attention.     Thus,  the 


134 


IDEATION. 


cliild  may  distiuguisli  very  clearly  between  two  apples  one 
of  which  is  bigger  than  the  other.  He  may  even  choose 
one  because  of  its  size.  But  the  abstract  ideas  he  forms 
are  rather  that  of  bigness  as  attaching  to  the  one  apple 
and  of  littleness  attaching  to  the  other.  It  is  quite  true 
that  these  attributes  are  both  only  aspects  of  the  relation 
existing  between  the  two  apples.  (The  smaller  might  be 
considered  hig  if  it  were  placed  with  a  tiny  apple,  while 
the  larger  would  be  called  little  if  placed  beside  a  gigantic 
one.) 

In  the  case  of  the  qualities  of  objects,  there  is  usually 
something  quite  definite  in  the  percept  or  image  on  which 
we  can  fix  our  attention.  Thus  the  whiteness  of  an  object 
is  something  very  clear  to  me  when  my  attention  has  once 
been  called  to  it.  But  relations  are  more  subtle.  They 
are  only  experienced  perceptually  in  passing  from  one 
thing  to  another.  And  the  passage  must  be  rapid ;  other- 
wise the  peculiar  feeling  attaching  to  it  is  not  felt. 

Relations  are  not  therefore  parts  of  our  percepts  on 
which  we  can  divell.  They  are  transitive  states.  "  Now 
it  is  very  difficult,  introspectively,  to  see  the  transitive 
parts  for  what  they  really  are.  If  they  are  but  flights 
to  a  conclusion,  stopping  them  to  look  at  them  before  the 
conclusion  is  reached  is  really  annihilating  them.  Whilst 
if  w^e  wait  till  the  conclusion  he  reached,  it  so  exceeds  them 
in  vigour  and  stability  that  it  quite  eclipses  and  swallows 
them  up  in  its  glare.  .  .  .  The  attempt  at  introspective 
analysis  in  these  cases  is  in  fact  like  seizing  a  spinning 
top  to  catch  its  motion,  or  trying  to  turn  up  the  gas 
quickly  enough  to  see  how  the  darkness  looks." ' 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  some  of  us  do  not 
form  clear  and  distinct  ideas  of  many  of  these  relations. 
The  fact  that  in  a  large  number  of  cases  it  is  hard  to  find 
separate  words  for  these  relations  indicates  both  that 
the  human  race  in  general  has  not  formed  very  clear  ideas 
of  them,  and  also  that  it  will  be  hard  for  any  child  to  do 
so  (since  a  definite  word  is  a  great  help  in  fixing  attention 
in  a  given  direction).    The  child  learns  to  say  "  This  apple 

'  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  243,  244. 


Ideation,  135 

is  higger  than  that  oue,"  "  My  father  is  bigger  than  my 
mother,"  "  The  dog  is  bigger  than  the  cat,"  and  the  meaniug* 
of  the  word  bigger  becomes  gradually  clearer.  But  it  is 
probably  never  so  clearly  separated  in  thought  from  the 
context  in  which  it  occurs  as  white  or  blacl'  or  any  other 
similar  abstract  idea  can  be.  The  very  form  bigger  demands 
some  words  at  each  end  before  one  thinks  of  a  definite 
meaning ;  while  such  a  word  as  ivhite  or  black,  though 
of  course  equally  artificial  in  reality  when  used  alone,  calls 
up  a  definite  meaning  even  without  a  context.  This  diffi- 
culty in  the  way  of  complete  abstraction  is  not  surprising 
when  it  is  remembered  that  a  relation  only  holds  between 
two  or  more  terms,  and  that  it  ceases  to  exist  if  the  terms 
disappear. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  abstract  ideas  of 
relations  need  not  be  any  more  definite  than  is  sufficient 
for  us  to  use  them  properly.  And  further,  that  they  often 
require  a  good  deal  of  experience  in  the  concrete  before 
they  can  be  singled  out  in  thought.  Teachers  are  liable 
to  forget  this  in  their  anxiety  to  push  on  with  their 
instruction.  Thus  most  teachers,  and  most  books  on 
arithmetic,  begin  to  deal  with  ratio  and  pro])ortion  by 
a  formal  lesson  in  which  the  attempt  is  made  to  get 
the  pupils  to  frame  clear  abstract  ideas  corresponding  to 
these  terms. 

A  few  examples  are  given,  such  as  1  :  3  : :  5  :  15, 
7  :  12  : :  21  :  36  and  the  scholars  are  pressed,  after  a  brief 
examination  of  the  relations  involved,  to  form  clear  notions 
of  ratio  and  proportion.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  lead 
the  children  to  feel  the  relations  in  working  a  large  number 
of  examples,  and  reserve  the  names  until  the  learners  are 
tolerably  familiar  with  the  relations  ?  Thus,  suppose  such 
sums  are  given  as  the  following :  If  7  carpenters  work 
for  a  week  and  are  paid  =£12,  how  much  ought  21 
carpenters  to  receive  for  working  the  same  time  ?  Sharp 
pupils  will  find  the  answer  for  themselves,  and  will  be  able 
to  tell  the  method  they  followed.  They  divided  21  by 
7,  and  then  multiplied  ijl2  by  their  quotient. 

SkiKul  (juestioning  will  lead  them  to  see  why  they  did 
this.    They  realised  that  there  were  moi'e  men  (21)  on  the 


136  IDEATION. 

second  occasion,  and  that  they  should  be  paid  more. 
How  many  times  more  ?  Just  as  many  times  more  as 
the  times  the  number  of  men  were  more.  How  can  this 
be  found  ?  By  dividing  the  second  number  of  men  by 
the  first  number  (%^-).  And  why  do  we  multiply  the 
d£12  by  the  result  of  this  (3)  ?  Because  we  know  that 
the  amount  to  be  paid  must  also  be  3  times  the  first 
amount.  Knowing  now  our  answer,  we  see  that  ^r^-  =  f f . 
But  at  the  beginning  of  the  sum  we  did  not  know  36. 
Represent  it  by  x.     Then — 

21_  x_ 
7       12" 

This  means  that  x  is  as  many  times  12  as  21  is  times  7. 
By  dividing  we  found  that  21  was  3  times  7.  Hence 
«  is  3  times  12.     Doing  both  operations  together,  we  have 

9  1      V,     TO  ^A    X     1  ii 

-if-  X  12,  or ~ . 

After  working  several  sums  in  this  way  and  after  becom- 
ing famihar  with  the  operations,  scholars  can  be  given 
the  word  ratio.  In  fact  the  term  can  be  used  to  simplify 
the  wording.  Thus  instead  of  saying,  21  is  as  many  times 
7  as  36  is  times  12,  I  may  say:  The  ratio  of  21  to  7 
=  the  ratio  of  36  to  12. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  child  not  only  goes  on  acquiring 
more  and  more  particular  ideas,  but  that  his  further 
perceptual  experiences  lead  to  the  formation  of  a  large 
number  of  abstract  ideas,  both  of  qualities  and  of  relations, 
and  also  of  a  number  of  generic  ideas  of  classes  of  objects 
(as  cats,  dogs,  horses).  These  various  processes  of  ideation 
go  on  in  intimate  connection.  The  abstract  ideas,  for 
instance,  are  used  in  analysis  of  the  objects  referred  to 
by  the  particular  and  generic  ideas.  Thus  the  child  is 
able  to  say,  My  cat  is  black.  My  cat  has  four  legs,  My 
cat  has  tivo  eyes.  My  cat  is  bigger  than  the  tvhite  cat  next 
door. 

In  the  same  way  the  objects  referred  to  by  his  generic 
ideas  can  be  analysed  by  the  use  of  his  abstract  ideas. 
Thus  he  can  say,  if  occasion  requires  it.  All  cats  have  four 


IDEATION.  137 

legs.  All  cats  have  two  eyes,  All  cats  are  bigger  than  mice, 
hut  smaller  than  houses. 

Such  statements,  whether  referring  to  individual  things 
or  to  classes  of  things,  ai'o  caWed  jtcdgments.  It  is  evident 
that  the  child  is  making  them  from  the  time  that  he 
begins  to  frame  his  first  abstract  ideas.  Indeed,  concepts 
and  judgments  are  only  different  aspects  of  the  same 
process.  The  forming  of  a  concept  itself  involves  judgment, 
whether  expressed  or  understood ;  and,  conversely,  judg- 
ment always  involves  the  use  of  some  previously  formed 
ideas.  Thus  if  a  child  obtained  his  abstract  ideas  of  blade 
and  ^vhife  in  the  way  we  have  described  (see  p.  116),  he  would 
be  making,  though  vaguely,  such  judgments  as  That  is 
a  cat,  My  cat  is  black.  That  cat  is  white.  These  judgments 
might  not,  of  course,  be  uttered,  but  they  would  be  more  or 
less  clearly  understood. 

Not  only  is  the  process  of  conception  itself  a  judg- 
ment, but  it  renders  fm'ther  judgments  possible,  and  in 
these  judgments  the  concepts  are  being  made  richer  and 
more  definite.  By  means  of  these  further  judgments  the 
child  can  analyse  in  thought  both  particular  objects  and 
the  objects  which  are  thought  of  in  his  generic  ideas. 
Thus,  supposing  he  has  a  svifficient  number  of  abstract 
ideas,  he  is  able  to  enumerate  all  the  qualities  of  any 
individual  thing  with  which  he  is  acquainted.  He  sepa- 
rates out  all  those  qualities  which,  though  not  discriminated 
in  his  original  particular  idea,  went  to  form  that  vague 
whole  idea.  This  series  of  judgments  would  be  called  a 
description  of  the  object. 

Children  are  continually  being  asked  to  do  this  in  the 
early  stages  of  their  education,  not  merely  because  it  fixes  in 
their  minds  a  certain  amount  of  information,  but  because 
the  process  of  doing  such  things  renders  their  ideas 
richer  and  more  definite,  fosters  the  habit  of  observing 
carefully,  and  thus  leads  them  to  enrich  their  stock  of 
ideas.  The  lessons  in  which  this  kind  of  thing  is  done 
are  usually  called  observation,  object,  or  nattire-study 
lessons.  And  in  view  of  what  has  been  said,  it  is 
obvious  that  there  is  little  profit  to  be  obtained  by  the 
teacher's  doing  the  talking,  except  where  a  few  words  are 


138  lDEAT10>f. 

necessary  to  direct  the  observations  of  the  children.  The 
children  must  observe  for  themselves,  and  themselves 
describe  what  they  have  seen. 

"  We  may  say,  then,  that  the  two  processes  marked  off 
by  logicians  as  Conception  and  Judgment  are  not  essentially 
different.  .  .  .  We  only  reach  a  general  notion  at  all  by 
means  of  a  comparative  detection  of  likeness,  which,  when 
explicit,  is  judgment.  Conversely,  since  our  ordinary 
judgments  involve  general  notions,  we  may  say  that  it  is 
only  after  carrying  out  some  measure  of  conception  that 
we  are  prepared  for  the  higher  and  more  elaborate  type  of 
judgment."^  When  we  are  thinking  of  results,  we  tend 
to  use  the  word  concepts ;  when  we  are  thinking  of  the 
acts  of  cognition  whereby  and  wherein  those  results  arise, 
or  are  applied  to  new  cases,  we  tend  to  use  the  word 
judgments. 

As  we  have  already  intimated,  judgments  are  made  not 
only  on  particular  objects,  but  about  classes  of  things. 
The  early  judgments  of  children  are  mostly  made  on 
particular  things.  But  as  particular  ideas  are  continually 
being  extended  to  cover  classes  of  things,  there  is  a 
tendency  for  the  child  who  has  formed  a  judgment  with 
respect  to  an  individual  thing  to  make  the  same  judgment 
extend  to  the  class.  This  goes  on  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
sometimes  the  very  beginning  of  the  extension  of  the  name 
(e.g.  cat)  to  other  objects  beyond  the  first  one  noticed 
arises  in  connection  with  the  formation  of  abstract  ideas 
of  contrary  qualities  (e.g.  black  and  white),  one  of  which 
is  possessed  by  the  first,  the  other  by  the  second.  There 
is  no  distinction  in  the  child's  mind — except  where  he  has 
definitely  observed  a  difference — between  the  individual 
member  with  which  he  begins  his  experience  of  the  class 
and  the  other  members.  Consequently  all  that  he  learns  of 
the  individual  is  transferred  to  the  other  members.  He  is, 
therefore,  said  to  have  a  tendency  to  hasty  generalisation. 

But  this  is  a  universal  tendency.  For  as  we  have  seen, 
the  generic  idea  of  the  class  is  formed  by  extending 
the    particular    idea    to    new   cases.     And    unless   some 

'  Sully,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  New  Edition,  p.  272. 


IDEATION.  139 

characteristic  iu  the  percept  of  a  uew  case  is  in  opposition  to 
the  idea,  there  is  no  reason  why  the  extended  particular 
idea  should  be  modified.  Gradually,  however,  after 
repeated  hitches,  one  becomes  warj.  The  scientist,  after 
long  experience,  refuses  to  generalise  unless  he  has  sufficient 
grounds  for  doing  so. 

As  the  child's  store  of  abstract  ideas  becomes  richer, 
and  as  his  attention  becomes  more  and  more  occupied 
with  classes  of  things,  he  is  able  in  some  cases  to 
convert  his  vague  generic  ideas  of  classes  into  truly 
abstract  and  general  ideas.  By  a  series  of  judgments 
he  separates  out  from  the  vague  complex  of  qualities  by 
which  he  has  learned  to  recognise  a  member  of  the  class 
those  properties  of  which  he  already  has  abstract  ideas. 
In  this  way  he  forms  a  compounded  abstract  idea  or 
concept^  of  the  class,  i.e.  a  definite  notion  of  all  the 
qualities  which  are  essential  to  constitute  membership  of 
that  class. 

He  does  this,  however,  only  in  cases  where  there  is  need. 
Thus,  when  he  comes  to  study  geometry,  his  generic  idea 
of  a  square  must  be  refined  and  corrected  ;  he  must  have 
definite  knowledge  of  essential  qualities — four  equal  sides, 
and  corners  right  angles.  When  he  states  this  knowledge, 
he  is  said  to  give  a  definition.  But  in  the  case  of  many 
classes  of  things  with  which  he  has  to  deal  in  practical  life, 
this  careful  enumeration  of  several  qualities  is  not  necessary. 
His  ideas  of  such  classes  may  remain  entirely  generic,  or 
they  may  be  partially  refined  on  account  of  the  abstraction 
of  certain  striking  attributes.  There  are,  indeed,  many 
gi*adations  between  the  two  extremes,  i.e.  between  the 
vague,  unanalysed  generic  idea  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
clear-cut  general  or  abstract  idea  of  a  class  on  the  other. 

Things  of  a  class  have  visually  certain  outstanding 
qualities  which  distinguish  the  class  from  other  things. 
And  since  the  child,  like  the  man,  has  a  practical  interest 

^  Lloyd  Morgan  uses  the  word  concept  only  for  such  compounded 
abstract  ideas.  A  "  concept,"  then,  for  him  is  a  "recombination 
through  constructive  synthesis "  of  several  abstracted  ideas  of 
(jualities  and  relations  to  form  the  t(^)tal  idea  of  a  class.  (See  his 
Psyrholofjy  for  Teacher.<i,  p.  123.) 


140  IDEATION. 

in  things,  since  the  things  are  handled  with  some  purpose 
in  view,  these  qualities,  and  these  alone,  become  of  great 
importance.  If  they  have  not  already  acquired  corre- 
sponding abstract  ideas  in  the  child's  mind,  they  will  do  so 
in  the  process  of  comparing  other  things  which  do  not 
possess  them,  and  which  are  consequently  of  no  use  for  the 
purpose  in  hand,  with  the  class  of  things  in  question. 
And  judgments  will  be  framed  by  the  child  in  which  these 
important  qualities  are  predicated  of  the  class. 

The  quality  selected  for  special  attention  will  not  always 
be  the  same.  Thus,  when  a  child  likes  to  stroke  the  cat's 
fur,  the  quality  of  being  smooth  to  the  touch  will  be  an 
important  characteristic.  When  he  is  interested  in  the 
catching  of  mice,  the  cat's  usefulness  in  the  house  will 
form  the  predicate  of  his  judgment  about  cats.  "When  he 
gets  scratched  by  a  cat  with  whom  he  has  been  rough, 
the  ability  of  the  cat  to  defend  itself  will  be  the  most 
prominent  characteristic.  When  he  sees  pictures  of  a  cat, 
or  when  he  is  engaged  in  drawing  a  sketch  of  one,  the 
cat's  general  form  will  strike  him  most.  Now  in  making 
such  judgments  he  does  not  separate  his  original  generic 
idea  of  cats  (as  a  number  of  creatures  like  his  own  cat) 
from  the  abstract  ideas  of  the  particular  properties  which 
arise  prominently  in  his  mind  under  certain  conditions. 
Each  judgment  is  condensed,  as  it  were,  into  a  general 
idea  of  a  class  of  creatures  possessing  a  certain  property. 
In  other  Avords,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  the  effect  of 
each  judgment  is  to  enrich  and  render  more  definite  the 
original  generic  idea,  thus  making  it  more  abstract,  and 
consequently  more  definite  in  character. 

The  child  has,  then,  a  sort  of  complex  idea  consisting  of 
the  generic  idea  (as  we  have  described  it)  +  a  definite 
abstract  idea  of  one  or  more  qualities  which  are  uppermost 
in  his  mind.  And  this  double  idea  is  an  enriched  concept 
of  the  cat.  It  consists  of  two  parts — (1)  a  reference  to  all 
the  things  denoted  by  the  name,  and  (2)  an  abstract  idea  of 
one  or  more  prominent  qualities  possessed  by  the  members 
of  the  class.  The  first  part  of  the  meaning  is  usually 
called  the  denotation,  the  second  the  connotation. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  even  the  original  generic 


IDEATION.  141 

idea  is  of  a  class  of  objects  of  a  certain  hind,  though  the 
kind  is  not  clearly  specified.  Gradually,  however,  it  be- 
comes clearer,  since  definite  judgments  are  made  about  the 
class  of  things  in  question.  Every  general  term  or  class- 
name  has  therefore  a  double  meaning.  It  refers  to  certain 
things  as  wholes,  and  it  also  refers  to  the  qualities  which 
distinguish  them  from  other  things.  Whenever  we  use 
the  term,  however,  one  or  other  of  these  meanings  is 
usually  uppeiinost.  We  think  chiefly  either  of  the  de- 
notation or  of  the  connotation,  though  the  two  are  so 
closely  connected  that  one  meaning  is  ever  on  the  point  of 
calling  up  the  other.  In  general  the  denotation  is  the 
more  explicit  when  we  are  in  the  realm  of  particular  ideas, 
and  dealing  principally  with  percepts  or  images.  Thus, 
when  I  say  "  All  the  soldiers  were  posted  along  the 
streets,"  the  word  soldiers  is  understood  principally  in 
denotation.  But  when  we  are  in  the  realm  of  general 
ideas,  and  not  thinking  chiefly  of  a  particular  occurrence, 
the  connotation  is  in  the  ascendant.  Thus,  when  I  say 
"  Soldiers  are  necessaiy  for  the  well-being  of  a  nation,"  I 
am  thinking  chiefly  of  certain  properties  which  soldiers 
possess,  i.e.  of  the  connotation  of  the  word. 

When  I  am  describing  what  I  have  seen  or  imagining 
what  I  should  like  to  see,  many  of  my  words  are  under- 
stood chiefly  in  denotation.  I  am  in  the  world  of 
description  or  imagination.  When  I  am  concerned  chiefly 
with  the  connotation  of  my  terms,  and  with  the  relations 
which  exist  between  them,  I  am  in  the  world  of  thought 
proper.  I  am  not  concerned  for  the  moment  with  any 
particular  case,  but  with  qualities  and  relations  which  are 
to  be  found  in  every  case.  I  am  concerned  with  universal 
truth,  not  with  the  truth  of  any  particular  moment.  It  is 
obvious  that  the  former  is  more  important  than  the  latter. 
All  science  is  the  effort  to  extort  general  truths  from  the 
particular  occurrences  which  we  observe  around  us.  The 
generic  idea  as  we  described  it  at  the  beginning  is,  then, 
only  a  sort  of  particular  idea,  though  it  refers  to  a  group 
instead  of  to  one  thing.  It  is  not  until  we  come  to  turn 
our  attention  to  qualities  and  relations,  till  our  original 
generic  idea  is  also  an  abstract  idea,  till  we  read  our  terms 


142  IDEATION. 

in  connotation,  that  we  can  be  said  to  be  thinJcing  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word. 

The  concept,  as  we  have  already  indicated,  may  vary  in 
signification.  That  part  which  we  have  called  the  generic 
idea  of  a  class  of  objects,  without  any  definite  reference 
to  their  qualities,  remains  fairly  stable ;  but  the  particular 
property  which  is  uppermost  in  the  mind  varies  from  time 
to  time.  In  other  words,  the  denotation  remains  more 
steady  than  the  connotation.  If  the  child  were  asked  to 
state  his  definition  of  cats  at  a  particular  moment,  and  if 
he  could  render  his  meaning  faithfully,  it  might  be  any 
one  of  the  following,  according  to  circumstances : — 

(1)  animals  that  scratch  ; 

(2)  animals  that  catch  mice  ; 

(3)  animals  that  play  with  him ; 

(4)  animals  that  can  he  stroJced  ; 

(5)  animals  that  ineiv. 

Even  adults  have  varying  ideas  of  the  same  kind  of 
thing  at  different  times.  Thus,  the  quality  uppermost  in 
my  mind  when  I  think  of  paper  will  vary  according  to  the 
purpose  I  have  in  view.     When  I  want — 

(1)  to   light   a  fire,  it  is    something   which  hums 
easily ; 

(2)  to   write   a   letter,  it  is  something    on   ivhich 
hlack  marks  can  he  made  ; 

(3)  to  make  a  parcel,  it  is  something  which  can  he 
wrapped  round  things ; 

(4)  to  cut  a  pattern,  it  is  something  ivhich  can  he 
cut  easily  into  various  shapes ; 

(5)  to  pack   some  china,  it  is  something  which  is 
soft  and  yielding. 

Statements  of  our  ideas  of  things,  considered  on  their 
connotative  side  {i.e.  with  respect  to  the  qualities  which 
they  possess),  are,  as  we  have  already  noted,  called 
definitions.  A  definition,  therefore,  is  a  statement  of  the 
connotation  of  a  term.     It  is  the  unfolding  of  the  term's 


IDEATION,  143 

meaning  in  abstract  ideas.  AVlieu  no  such  definite  mean- 
ing exists  in  the  mind,  there  may  still  be  the  other 
meaning — the  denotation;  in  other  words,  one  may  have 
a  generic  idea  of  a  class,  the  essential  qualities  of  which 
have  never  been  singled  out,  whether  wholly  or  in  part. 
In  this  case,  the  only  way  to  show  one's  meaning  would  be 
to  point  to,  or  to  indicate  in  some  similar  fashion,  one  or 
more  of  the  objects  referred  to.  Teachers  would  do  well, 
as  we  have  ah'eady  suggested,  to  remember  this  alternative 
for  definition,  especially  when  dealing  with  young  children. 
Where  definition  is  impossible  or  out  of  place,  this  method 
of  indicating  oiu"  meaning  may  frequently  be  adopted. 

Now  many  people  will  be  inclined  to  ridicule  some  of 
the  "  definitions  "  of  cats  and  paper  which  have  just  been 
considered.  Teachers  are  only  too  prone  to  make  fun  of 
such  statements.  Tet  they  may  be  correct  statements  of 
the  ideas  in  a  person's  mind  at  different  times.  And  there 
is  no  doubt  that  the  things  are  thus  conceived  in  the  most 
satisfactory  way  for  the  jnirjjose  in  hand.  As  we  have 
already  noted,  the  only  use  of  thought  is  to  help  us  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  business  we  have  in  hand.  Professor  James 
has  brought  this  out  very  clearly  in  the  following  extract. 

"  What  is  a  conception  ?  It  is  a  teleoJogical  instrument. 
It  is  a  partial  aspect  of  a  thing  which  for  our  purpose  we 
regard  as  its  essential  aspect,  as  the  representative  of  the 
entire  thing.  In  comparison  with  this  aspect,  whatever 
other  properties  and  qualities  the  thing  may  have  are 
unimportant  accidents  which  we  may  without  blame  ignore. 
But  the  essence,  the  ground  of  conception,  varies  with  the 
end  we  have  in  view.  A  substance  like  oil  has  as  many  dif- 
ferent essences  as  it  has  uses  to  different  individuals.  One 
man  conceives  it  as  combustible,  another  as  a  lubricator, 
another  as  a  food ;  the  chemist  thinks  of  it  as  a  hydro- 
carbon ;  the  furniture-maker  as  a  darkener  of  wood ;  the 
speculator  as  a  commodity  whose  market-price  to-day  is 
this  and  to-moiTOw  that.  The  soap-boiler,  the  physicist, 
the  clothes-scourer  severally  ascribe  to  it  other  essences  in 
relation  to  their  needs."  ^ 

^  "  The  Sentiment  of  Rationality,"  Mind,  Vol.  IV^.  (quoted  in 
Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  335). 


144  IDEATION. 

The  definition  after  wliicli  we  as  teachers  always  tend 
to  hanker,  the  logical  definition,  which  is  supposed  to  be 
the  true  statement  of  the  concept,  expresses  a  thought 
which  is  seldom  in  anybody's  mind  except  that  of  the 
logician  or  the  scientist.  It  is  the  idea  in  the  mind  of  a 
man  whose  purpose  is  to  indicate  the  qualities  which 
distinguish  the  class  of  things  in  question  from  all  other 
things.  It  is  well,  however,  to  note  how  it  is  framed. 
One  cannot  hold  a  great  many  ideas  in  the  mind  at  one 
moment.  Yet  the  fact  that  we  have  had  a  lai-ge  number 
in  connection  with  a  given  object  leads  us,  when  the  name 
of  that  object  is  mentioned,  to  feel  that  we  could  start 
making  many  judgments,  each  one  predicating  some 
quality  of  the  class  of  things.  Instead,  however,  of  doing 
this,  we  sum  up.  It  should  be  noticed  that  we  can 
arrange  the  classes  of  things  which  we  come  to  know  in 
some  order  or  hierarchy.  Thus  we  can  arrange  material 
things  as  follows  : — 

Material  things. 


Animate  things.  Inanimate  things. 


Animals.  Plants. 


Men.     Monkeys.     Dogs.     Elephants.     .     .     .     etc.     .     .     . 

The  classification  is  only  carried  a  little  way — far  enough 
to  illustrate  the  matter  in  hand.  It  will  be  found  that 
each  class  contains  all  the  properties  of  the  classes  directly 
above  it,  together  with  some  special  properties  which 
distinguish  its  members  from  those  of  the  class  or  classes 
on  the  same  level.  Thus  both  animals  and  plants  possess 
all  the  properties  essential  to  animate  things,  and  these 
possess  all  the  properties  essential  to  material  things. 
Now  if  I  wish  to  define  the  term  vian,  it  is  sufficient  to 
call  him  an  animal  (by  which  I  connote  aU  the  properties 
possessed  by  animals),  and  then  to  assign  some  quality 
which  distinguishes  him  from  the  other  animals.     Thus  I 


IDEATION.  145 

may  select  reason  or  rationality,  which  is  not  considered 
an  attribute  of  any  "  lower  "  animal.  I  then  define  man 
as  a  rational  animal.  This  kind  of  definition  is  said  to  be 
per  genus  el  differentiam.  The  genus  is  the  class  next  above 
{animal  in  this  case)  the  essential  properties  of  which 
are  all  possessed  by  this  smaller  class  (which  is  called  a 
species  of  the  genus)  ;  and  the  differentia^  is  some  quality 
which  is  possessed  by  all  members  of  the  class  I  am  de- 
fining, but  by  none  of  the  other  co-ordinate  classes. 

It  should  be  noted  that  all  such  classifications  involve 
the  hierarchy  of  abstractness  to  which  reference  was  made 
earlier  in  this  chapter  (p.  131).  Thus,  for  instance,  the  idea 
of  animate  tJmigs  is  a  more  abstract  one  than  that  of 
animals.  The  latter  may  thus  be  considered  as  "concrete" 
with  respect  to  the  higher  class ;  but  with  respect  to  the 
lower  classes  subsumed  under  it  (men,  monkeys,  dogs, 
elephants,  etc.)  it  must  be  considered  as  abstract.  As  a 
rule  a  child  gets  fairly  clear  ideas  (generic  ones)  of  men, 
monkeys,  dogs,  elephants,  etc.,  before  he  has  a  definite  notion 
of  the  great  class,  animals,  which  includes  all  these.  And, 
as  a  rule,  he  gets  tolerably  clear  notions  of  animals  and 
plants  before  he  comes  to  think  definitely  of  the  greater 
class,  animate  things,  which  includes  these  two. 

When,  however,  he  has  reached  the  level  of  thought 
which  enables  him  to  grasp  the  whole  of  such  a  classifica- 
tion, the  higher  or  more  abstract  classes  no  longer  present 
any  difficulty.  They  are,  indeed,  more  simple  than  the 
lower  ones.  For  we  must  remember  that  he  is  now  work- 
ing with  general  or  abstract  ideas.  And  when  he  possesses 
all  the  abstract  ideas  necessary  to  define  all  the  classes,  he 
finds  that  he  requires  less  of  them  to  define  the  higher 
classes  than  the  lower  ones. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  abstract  thought,  therefore, 
the  lower  we  descend  in  the  "  concrete,"  the  more  com- 
plicated things  become,  and  the  higher  we  rise  in  the 
abstract,  the  more  simple  are  our  ideas.  The  real  con- 
crete at  the  bottom  of  such   classifications  constitutes  a 

^  This  is  the  Nominative  Case  of  difftrentiam  (wliicli  is  tlie 
Accusative). 

FUND.  PSY.  10 


146  IDEATION. 

mass  of  material  whicli  our  abstractions  can  never  exhaust. 
But  as  we  proceed  upwards,  we  find  classes  which  are  more 
exclusively  formed  on  the  basis  of  pure  abstractions.  In 
this  region,  therefore,  a.nd  from  the  point  of  view  of  abstract 
thought,  we  are  more  at  home.  Consequently  when  we 
have  to  define  a  class  of  things,  i.e.  to  state  its  essential 
properties,  we  seize  upon  the  class  next  above  (i.e.  the  genus) 
which  represents  the  resiilts  of  our  abstractions  in  this 
field.  AU  that  then  remains  to  be  done  is  to  add  to  the 
genus  the  difference  between  the  species  we  are  considering 
and  all  other  species  of  the  same  genus.  We  now  have  a 
definite  abstract  idea  of  the  species  in  question.  And  we 
shall  be  able  to  use  or  assume  this  abstract  result  as  it 
stands  when  we  wish  to  define  a  still  lower  class  to  which 
the  one  just  dealt  with  will  stand  as  the  genus. 

The  fact  that  we  use  a  given  germs  in  a  definition  there- 
fore indicates,  or  should  indicate,  that  we  have  already 
performed  the  work  of  abstraction  necessary  for  marking 
off  the  qualities  of  that  genus.  Otherwise  we  should  be 
using  a  word  which  we  do  not  understand.  The  only 
remaining  work,  then,  in  defining  our  species  is  the  finding 
of  the  difference  between  that  species  and  the  other  co- 
ordinate species  of  the  same  genus.  To  do  this  we  must 
come  down  to  the  "concrete"  level  of  these  species: 
we  must  compare  examples  of  the  species  in  question 
with  examples  of  the  other  species  belonging  to  the  same 
genus. 

When  we  say  that  the  higher  and  more  abstract  classes 
are  simpler  and  that  the  lower  and  more  "  concrete  "  ones 
are  of  greater  complexity,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
this  is  only  true  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  person  tvho  is 
emp)lo]]ing  abstract  ideas,  i.e.  who  is  looking  at  things  from 
the  abstract  standpoint.  But  for  the  young  child,  who 
deals  largely  with  generic  ideas,  the  concrete  is  the  simpler. 
For  he  takes  it  as  a  whole :  he  is  not  bothered  about  its 
complexity  from  the  abstract  standpoint.  Now  there  is 
an  educational  maxim  which  runs:  Proceed  from  the  simple 
to  the  complex.  What  meaning  are  we  to  give  to  simple 
here  ?  Shall  we  take  it  to  mean  that  whicli  is  simple  from 
the  abstract  standpoint  ?     "  Thus  interpreted,  this  maxim 


IDEATION.  147 

is  in  contradiction  to  tlie  correlative  one  which  tells  us  to 
begin  with  the  concrete  and  go  on  to  the  abstract."  ^ 

The  whole  difficulty  vanishes  if  we  say:  Proceed  from 
what  is  simple  to  the  individual  yoti  are  teaching.  For 
the  young  child  with  his  generic  ideas,  the  simple  is 
the  concrete,  and  the  maxim  in  question  will  mean : 
Proceed  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract.  But  when  we  are 
dealing  with  an  older  person  who  already  possesses  all 
the  abstract  ideas  necessary  to  define  a  given  thing,  we 
may  regard  those  separate  abstract  ideas  as  being  simple 
for  him  ;  and  in  his  case  we  may  pi'oceed  from  the  abstract 
to  the  concrete,  i.e.  we  lead  him  to  understand  fully  a 
given  concrete  case  by  putting  together  a  number  of  the 
simple  abstract  ideas  which  he  possesses.  The  concrete 
with  which  he  ends,  however,  is  not  the  mere  concrete, 
taken  as  a  whole,  with  which  the  child  begins  :  it  is  rather 
an  understanding  of  the  concrete.  In  other  words,  he 
understands  the  concrete  in  terms  of  abstract  ideas. 

These  two  views  of  the  concrete — (1)  as  a  mere  whole, 
and  (2)  as  a  whole  which  is  seen  to  consist  of  many  parts 
or  aspects — are  continually  claiming  attention.  From  the 
first  point  of  view  a  thing  appears  very  simple  ;  from 
the  second  it  is  seen  to  be  very  complex.  Who  has  not 
begun  the  study  of  a  subject  thinking  it  was  very  simple  and 
easy,  only  to  find  that  the  further  he  proceeded  the  more 
complex  and  difficult  it  appeared  to  grow  ?  Perhaps  no 
subject  illustrates  this  change  in  point  of  view  better  than 
psychology.  To  the  beginner  sensations,  percepts,  im- 
ages, ideas,  feeling,  volition,  seem  very  simple  things. 
He  takes  them  as  wholes.  But  when  he  comes  to  probe 
deeper  into  the  subject,  he  finds  that  each  of  these  wholes 
is  a  most  complex  process  which  seems  to  defy  the  utmost 
efforts  of  his  analytical  powers. 

Examples  can  be  found,  also,  in  connection  with  other 
sciences.  A  young  child  may  regard  a  frog  as  a  very 
simple  thing.  But  later  in  life,  when  he  becomes  a  student 
of  biology,  he  finds  it  moi'e  and  more  complex.  He  has 
acquired  a  large  number  of  abstract  ideas  which  have  to 

'  Welton,  77te  Loyical  JJamn  of  Education,  p.  263. 


148  IDEATION. 

be  arranged  in  very  complex  systems  in  order  to  allow  liim 
to  understand  something  of  the  mysteries  of  that  "  simple  " 
concrete  frog.  Very  much  the  same  explanation  underlies 
the  statement  that  the  greatest  scholars  realise  most  fully 
the  narrow  limits  of  their  knowledge.  Socrates  of  old 
realised  this.  We  are  told  by  Aristotle  that  he  was  the . 
first  to  make  use  of  definitions.  He  went  about  probing 
the  cock-sure  persons  who  only  possessed  generic  ideas  of 
things,  or  at  any  rate  very  incomplete  abstract  ideas  of 
them,  trying  to  get  them  to  see  the  imperfection  of  their 
understanding  and  the  need  of  a  deeper  analysis.  And 
he  made  many  enemies  in  the  course  of  his  endeavours. 

It  is  now  obvious  that  a  definition  is  of  no  value  unless 
the  person  making  it,  or  to  whom  it  is  given,  has  had  full 
experience  of  all  the  things  in  question,  so  that  he  has 
made  all  the  necessary  abstractions,  and  now  recognises 
the  fitness  of  the  definition.  Children,  therefore,  should 
not  be  fed  on  definitions.  They  should  only  hear  them 
when  they  have  had  a  wide  experience  of  the  classes  of 
things  referred  to,  and  of  their  qualities.  We  can  be  most 
certain  of  this  when  the  children  make  their  definitions  for 
themselves.  These  definitions  can,  of  course,  be  polished 
up  by  the  teacher,  when  the  language  is  clumsy.  When 
children  have  thus  worked  out  definitions  for  themselves,  we 
can  be  quite  sure  that  they  have  performed  all  the  necessary 
abstractions,  and  consequently  understand  the  definitions. 

A  definition,  therefore,  should  not  come  at  the  beginning 
of  a  lesson.  The  children  should  be  presented  with  many 
examples  of  the  class  of  things  to  be  dealt  with,  and 
should  be  led  by  careful  observation  of  these  things  to 
single  out  the  important  and  distinguishing  qualities. 
This  is  the  method  usually  described  in  the  books  on 
Teaching  as  the  Inductive  Method,  or  the  method  in  which 
^e  proceed  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract. 

A  teacher  who  is  about  to  give  a  lesson  involving  a  new 
concept  or  series  of  concepts  would  do  well  to  begin  his 
preparation  by  framing  the  definitions  corresponding  to 
those  concepts.  Not  because  he  intends  to  begin  with 
them,  but  because  he  should  see  clearly  throughout  his 
preparation  the  goal  towards  which  he  is  working.     Thus, 


IDEATION.  149 

suppose  his  lesson  is  on  adverbial  phrases   and   clauses. 
He  might  write  down  such  definitions  as  the  following : — 

(1)  An  adverbial  expression  is  a  number  of  words 
doing  the  work  of  an  adverb. 

(2)  An  adverbial  clause  is  an  adverbial  expression 
containing  a  subject  and  predicate. 

(3)  An  adverbial  phrase  is  an  adverbial  expression 
not  containing  a  subject  and  predicate. 

Of  course  he  would  not  give  such  a  lesson  until  the 
pupils  had  already  acquired  some  knowledge  of  grammar, 
i.e.  until  they  had  already  formed  some  abstract  ideas  in 
this  subject.  His  duty  now  is  to  take  stock  of  these 
ideas.  The  boys  must,  for  instance,  already  know  what 
an  adverb  is  and  what  is  meant  by  the  subject  and  predi- 
cate of  a  sentence.  The  introduction  of  the  lesson  will 
consist  in  a  few  questions  on  the  ideas  in  question,  both  to 
assure  the  teacher  that  his  boys  know  these  preliminaries 
and  to  arouse  them  clearly  in  the  boys'  minds.  The  latter 
result  is  often  referred  to  as  the  preparation  of  the  boys' 
minds.  By  drawing  attention  to  that  which  is  relatively 
known,  it  prepares  the  way  for  a  passage  to  what  is 
relatively  imknown. 

If  the  teacher  is  proceeding  on  the  inductive  plan,  he 
will  not  at  first  introduce  his  definitions,  but  will  present 
examples  of  sentences  containing  the  forms  he  is  treating. 
He  will  construct  these  himself  befoi-ehand.  And  their 
arrangement  will  require  considerable  skill.  He  will  note 
the  several  abstract  ideas  involved  in  the  definitions. 
And  he  will  remember  that  abstraction  can  only  take 
place  after  comparison  of  two  things  or  two  classes  of 
things  which  are  alike  in  most  respects  but  which  differ 
in  that  one  possesses,  but  the  other  does  not  possess,  the 
quality  to  be  abstracted.  He  may,  for  instance,  have 
framed  such  sentences  as  the  followintr : — 


The  boy  ran  away. 


The  boy  ran  ^ip  the  hill. 
The  boy  ran  where  the 

old  man  could  not  fol- 

lov)  him. 


150  IDEATION. 

These  sentences  contain  examples  o£  an  adverb  and  of 
adverbial  expressions  of  place.  Similar  examples  could  be 
framed  in  which  time  and  manner  are  indicated.  In  any 
case,  additional  and  varying  examples  must  be  presented. 
For  otherwise  the  boys  would  be  liable  to  incorporate  in 
their  ideas  of  adverbial  expressions  peculiarities  of  word- 
ing or  construction  which  do  not  matter.  But  with  a 
number  of  examples  the  essential  difference  between  an 
adverb  and  an  adverbial  expression  will  "roll  out"  clearly 
in  the  minds  of  the  boys,  freed  from  the  peculiai'ities  of  any 
one  example.  To  use  the  terms  we  have  already  employed, 
the  method  of  agreement  supplements  the  method  of  differ- 
ence. By  judicious  questions  the  boys  could  be  led  to 
discover  that  the  expressions  uj)  the  hill  and  where  the  old 
man  could  not  follow  Mm  do  the  work  of  an  adverb.  By 
further  questions  they  can  be  led  to  compare  these  "  com- 
pound "  adverbs  with  the  "  simple "  adverb  with  which 
they  are  familiar.  They  will  thus  notice  the  differing 
quality  (several  words  instead  of  one).  They  will  do  the 
same  with  further  examples.  The  teacher  will  give  them 
the  new  word  for  the  concept  which  they  have  framed  as  a 
result  of  their  comparison  (adverbial  expression).  He  will 
now  get  them  to  repeat  what  they  have  already  noted  as 
the  distinguishing  feature.  He  may  have  to  polish  up 
their  somewhat  crude  definitions.  But  he  will  have  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  them  to  f  raiue  the  concept  and  to  express 
it  in  words. 

He  next  proceeds  by  further  questioning  to  bring  out 
the  distinguishing  features  of  the  adverbial  clause  and  the 
adverbial  phrase.  Here  a  comparison  will  be  instituted, 
not  between  adverbs  and  abverbial  expressions,  but  between 
the  various  pairs  of  the  latter  (such  as  the  two  given  above). 
The  boys  find  a  subject  (the  old  man)  and  a  predicate  (cotild 
not  folloio  him).  But  they  cannot  find  either  subject  or 
predicate  in  the  other  instance  (jip  the  hill).  Further 
examples  are  examined ;  and  as  a  result  of  their  observations 
and  comparisons  the  boys  are  able  to  distinguish  clearly 
between  the  various  adverbial  expressions.  The  teacher 
introduces  the  new  terms  (clause  and p/t rase),  and  the  boys 
should  now  be  able  to  tell  him  what  each  means.     Their 


IDEATION.  151 

crude  defiuitions  will  be  polished  up,  if  necessary,  and  they 
may  be  allowed  to  repeat  or  write  the  amended  statements. 

Lastly,  the  pupils  will  be  required  to  pick  out  adverbs, 
adverbial  clauses  and  phrases  from  a  passage  specially 
selected  by  the  teacher  on  account  of  the  many  examples 
which  it  possesses.  A  further  exercise  would  be  to  make 
boys  themselves  frame  sentences  containing  the  various 
forms.  At  first  the  teacher  might  give  them  a  sentence 
containing  an  adverb,  and  require  them  to  substitute  a 
clause  or  a  phrase.  Later  they  could  be  required  to  frame 
examples  of  each  entirely  by  themselves.  Such  appUca- 
tions  of  acquired  knowledge  to  new  cases  are  usually 
spoken  of  as  deductive  processes.  We  thus  have  induction 
followed  by  deduction. 

Careful  examination  of  this  sketch  of  a  lesson  will 
reveal  five  steps  : — 

(1)  PrejJaration  of  the  boys'  minds   by  questioning 
them  on  what  they  already  kaow  on  the  matter. 

(2)  Presentation  of  the 
selected  examples. 

(3)  Comparison  of  the 


selected  examples. 

(4)  Generalisation,  the 
obtaining  of  the  general 
or  abstract  ideas. 


These  steps  were  repeated 
twice— once  to  bring  out  the 
idea  of  an  adverbial  expres- 
sion, and  again  to  bring  out 
the  dilference  between  a 
clause  and  a  phrase. 

(5)  Application,  the  testing  of  the  boys,  with  further 
fixing  of  the  new  ideas  by  using  them  in  finding  and 
framing  other  examples. 

These  five  steps  are  practically  the  same  as  what  are 
usually  called  the  Five  Formal  Steps  of  Herbart.  All 
lessons  which  involve  the  teaching  of  new  abstract  ideas 
should  proceed  on  similar  lines,  and  the  notes  might  well 
be  drawn  up  under  the  five  headings  we  have  specified. 
Lessons  on  grammar,  science,  and  new  principles  in  arith- 
metic lend  themselves  especially  well  to  this  treatment. 
Other  subjects,  such  as  geography,  history,  and  literature, 
can  also  include  lessons  proceeding  on  similar  lines.  But 
to  attempt  to  apply  the  Formal  Steps  in  all  cases  would 
be  absurd.     Many  of  our  lessons  in  school  involve  practice, 


162  IDEATION. 

imitation,  and  repetition  of  things  witli  which  the  children 
ai'e  already  tolerably  familiar,  as  well  as  much  direct  com- 
munication of  information  and  guidance,  based  only  on 
ideas  which  the  children  already  possess.  In  such  lessons, 
the  ideas  which  the  children  already  have  are  called  up 
and  recombined ;  but  there  is  no  systematic  attempt  to 
get  the  children  to  frame  totally  new  ones,  though  it  does 
not  follow  that  new  ideas  may  not  arise  incidentally.  It 
is  only  where  definitely  new  conclusions  or  generahsations 
are  to  be  arrived  at  that  such  a  method  as  that  just 
sketched  can  be  employed. 

If  definition  is  arrived  at  in  connection  with  such  exercises 
as  these,  it  is  of  great  value  to  the  children.  It  not  only 
makes  clear  the  results  of  their  observations  and  com- 
parisons, and  fixes  those  results  in  their  minds  in  a 
definite  form,  but  it  is  a  training  in  exact  thought.  It  is 
a  beginning  in  the  work  of  the  scientist.  And  though  the 
children  may  never  go  on  to  analyse  the  universe,  or  even  a 
large  part  of  it,  the  clear  ideas  they  have  thus  framed  will 
help  them  in  many  circumstances,  and  may  form  the 
nucleus  of  much  exact  thinking  which  would  not  otherwise 
have  taken  place. 

It  is  necessary,  however,  once  again  to  caution  the 
teacher  against  insisting  on  exact  definitions  at  all  times, 
especially  in  the  case  of  young  children  whose  stock  of 
abstract  ideas  is  small.  The  rough  generic  ideas  of  the  child 
are  quite  satisfactory  for  ordinary  purposes.  The  teacher 
would  unnecessarily  worry  the  children,  and  himself,  if 
he  demanded  exact  logical  definitions  of  all  the  words 
occurring  in  school.  Nobody  has  ever  defined  all  the 
terms  he  uses.  Even  the  philosophers  use  a  great  many 
words  which  they  would  not  at  all  like  to  be  asked 
to  define.  It  is  sufiicient  in  many  cases  if  the  child  can 
show  by  his  use  of  a  word  in  a  sentence  that  he  understands 
its  meaning.  Definitions  should  not  be  required  except  in 
the  higher  classes  of  the  school,  and  even  there  they  should 
only  be  given  in  connection  with  important  things  which 
serve  as  landmarks  in  the  subject  dealt  with. 

It  should  be  noted  that  we  have  thi-oughout  distinguished 
between  generic  ideas  and  abstract  ideas.     We  have  seeq 


IDEATION.  153 

how  generic  ideas  tend  to  take  on,  or  to  be  analysed  into, 
abstract  ideas,  and  thus  acquire  definite  connotation  in 
addition  to  the  definite  denotation  which  they  originally 
possess.  The  opposite  process  takes  place  in  the  case  of 
the  simple  abstract  ideas.  They  tend  to  be  used  to 
signify  the  things  which  possess  the  quality,  as  well  as 
the  quality  itself.  Thus  the  child  who  has  distinguished 
white  and  black  as  qualities  can  think  of  all  ivhite  things 
and  all  black  things.  Every  abstract  idea  has  thus  a 
potential  reference  to  a  class  of  things.  When  this 
reference  is  explicit  in  the  mind  the  idea  is  said  to  be 
generalised.  So  we  see  that,  although  the  two  kinds  of 
meaning — denotation  and  connotation — are  always  distin- 
guishable, a  given  word  can  call  up  both.  Hence  some 
writers  are  content  to  use  the  terms  abstract  idea  and 
general  idea  interchangeably. 

The  term  general  idea  must  be  carefully  distinguished 
from  generic  idea.  Both  have  this  in  common,  that  they 
refer  to  classes  of  things.  But  the  former  implies  that 
the  connotation  is  definitely  known,  while  the  latter 
includes  only  ability  to  recognise  members  of  a  class, 
without  any  abstract  knowledge  of  their  qualities.  Generic 
ideas  are  possessed  by  the  higher  animals  as  well  as  by 
man  ;  genera  Z  or  abstract  ideas  seem  to  be  the  prerogative 
of  man.  Generic  ideas  have  been  referred  to  by  some 
wrifers  as  "  j*ecepts,"  to  distinguish  them  from  generaZ 
ideas  or  concepts. 

It  has  already  been  shown  that  ideation  is  involved  in 
observation,  imagination,  and  description.  The  first  of 
these  processes  both  depends  on  ideation  and  ministers  to 
its  further  development.  Imagination  and  description  are 
obviously  dependent  on  previous  observation.  They  are 
usually  conducted  imder  the  direct  guidance  of  words  and 
their  meanings.  All  description  involves  ideation  both  on 
the  part  of  the  speaker  and  of  the  hearer.  The  former 
starts  with  images  of  what  he  has  seen.  But  he  cannot 
give  the  hearer  these  images.  He  produces  sounds.  And 
these  sounds  must  nieaii  something,  both  in  his  mind  and 
in  that  of  his  hearer.  The  latter  puts  together  these 
meanings  and    crystallises   out  something  definite  which 


164  IDEATION. 

usually  includes  a  clear-cut  image  or  series  of  images, 
similar  in  signification  (let  us  hope)  to  what  is  in  the 
mind  of  the  speaker. 

Thus  words  and  their  corresponding  ideas  play  an  im- 
portant part  even  in  the  apparently  simple  process  of  descrip- 
tion. It  should  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  the  images 
aroused  with  the  words  usually  play  a  very  large  part  in 
these  activities.  In  other  words,  the  denotation  of  our 
terms  is  largely  in  the  ascendant  in  such  cases.  For  we 
are  dealing  with  particular  events  and  situations,  which 
have  either  been  actually  perceived  or  which  are  imagined 
on  the  basis  of  past  perceptions  and  observations. 

Still,  the  ideational  "  network  "  produced  by  the  co7i- 
notations  of  our  words  remains  of  great  importance.  As 
we  saw  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  chapter,  a  number  of 
general  terms  taken  together  define  and  limit  the  whole 
meaning  so  that  only  one  interpretation  is  possible.  This 
is  what  was  meant  just  now  by  saying  that  something 
definite  "  crystallises  out."  Thus,  if  I  say,  A  boat  was 
steaming  across  the  ocean,  it  is  obvious  that  many  images 
of  definite  things  which  might  arise  in  connection  with 
some  of  the  words  taken  separately  would  be  modified  by 
the  meaning  of  the  other  words.  If  I  paused  at  boat,  the 
image  of  a  small  rowing  boat  might  arise  in  the  mind  of 
my  hearer.  But  when  he  hears  steaming  and  ocean  he  is 
forced  to  substitute  a  very  different  image. 

"  What,  then,  is  the  relation  of  imagination  to  concep- 
tion ?  It  is  a  somewhat  subtle  one.  No  one  can  be  a 
great  inventor,  man  of  science,  artist,  or  man  of  letters, 
unless  he  have  both.  And  the  greatest  is  he  who  has  both 
in  due  proportion.  The  products  of  conception  are  general 
and  abstract :  the  products  of  imagination  are  concrete 
and  particular.  The  function  of  imagination  is  therefore 
to  give  concrete  embodiment  to  the  genes^-alised  results  of 
abstract  and  conceptual  thought.  The  things  and  pro- 
cesses, the  men  and  women  of  our  daily  experience  afford 
the  material  from  which,  by  analysis  and  synthesis,  our 
conceptions  of  the  world  and  of  human  life  are  sublimated 
in  the  process  of  thought.  The  imagination  of  the  artist 
gives  to  these  conceptions  re-incarnation  ;  and  in  sculpture, 


IDEATION.  155 

the  Apollo  Belvedere  ;  in  painting,  the  Sistine  Madonna  ; 
in  literature,  Hamlet,  are  presented."  ' 

Strictly  speaking,  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  the  connotation  of 
our  words  is  in  the  ascendant  that  we  can  truly  be  said  to 
be  thinking.  In  this  process,  we  analyse  the  concrete 
wholes  of  the  world  into  pai*ts  which,  although  they  do 
not  exist  separately  in  the  reality  around  us,  are  eternal 
realities  for  thought.  In  other  words,  we  pass  from 
particulars  to  universals.  To  appreciate  the  force  of  the 
term  universal,  it  is  well  to  reflect  that  ordinary  men  still 
frame  practically  the  same  general  idea  of  a  dog  or  a  liorse 
as  they  did  in  Plato's  time,  though  countless  generations 
of  dogs  and  horses  have  long  since  passed  away. 

But  we  do  not  merely  analyse.  We  reconstruct.  In- 
deed, we  cannot  do  the  one  without  the  other.  The  very 
process  whereby  we  abstract  a  quality  is,  as  we  have  seen, 
a  judgment.  But  a  judgment  is  a  wJiole.  The  quality 
singled  out  is,  as  it  were,  replaced  again.  A  judgment 
thus  involves  both  analysis  and  synthesis.  And  when  a 
number  of  judgments  have  been  made  about  the  same 
thing  or  class  of  things,  their  common  subject  is  a  point 
of  union  between  them.  The  various  simple  abstract 
ideas  which  have  been  singled  out  by  the  various  separate 
acts  of  judgment  are  synthesised  into  a  general  idea  or 
concept  of  the  thing  or  class  of  things. 

But  there  is  more  important  synthetic  work  than  this. 
The  qualities  and  relations  which  have  been  abstracted  in 
various  portions  of  experience  are  seen  to  have  relations  to 
one  another,  and  they  are  arranged  by  further  judgments 
into  new  complexes.  Thus  I  may  notice  the  dog's  tongue 
lolling  out  after  a  run,  and  I  may  notice  a  man  perspiring 
after  similar  exercise.  Concerning  these  I  form  separate 
judgments.  In  my  world  of  thought,  however,  I  can 
connect  them.  With  my  ideas  of  cause  and  effect,  obtained 
through  many  other  judgments,  I  am  able  to  see  that  in 
both  cases  the  same  cause  is  at  work,  but  that  the  dog 
perspires  through  his  tongue  instead  of  through  his  skin. 
I  have   come  to   relate  my  abstractions,   and  as  thus  re- 

'  Lloyd  Morgan,  P><y<holo<jy  for  Ttachern,  p.  245 


156  IDEATION. 

arranged  the}'  form  a  new  system.  The  human  race  is 
continually  framing  such  new  systems.  In  other  words, 
we  come  to  think  the  world  instead  of  merely  perceiving  it. 

Our  abstract  ideas  thus  get  linked  together  in  systems. 
From  separate  units  abstracted  from  concrete  experience 
we  build  a  world  of  thought.  Our  ideas  become  linked 
together,  not  merely  by  juxtaposition,  but  by  means  of 
necessary  connections  or  relations  which  are  seen  (by 
further  processes  of  ideation)  to  exist  between  them.  On 
account  of  this  implicative  value  of  ideas  we  are  often  able 
to  push  forward  beyond  the  limits  of  actual  experience. 
We  are  able  to  reason.  If  I  see  a  living  hand,  I  infer  with 
certainty  that  a  body  is  attached  to  it,  even  when  I  cannot 
see  any  signs  of  that  body.  When  the  astronomer  Adams 
noticed  irregularities  in  the  movement  of  Uranus,  he 
proceeded  through  many  chains  of  ideas  to  the  discovery 
of  a  new  planet,  and  was  able  to  indicate  almost  exactly 
the  direction  in  which  telescopes  should  be  turned  in  order 
to  bring  the  planet  Neptune  to  view.  Here,  once  again, 
we  see  that  ideation  does  not  take  place  for  its  own  sake, 
but  for  the  more  effective  treatment  of  the  concrete. 

This  process  of  analysis  and  synthesis  is  continually 
going  on.  It  will  pi-obably  never  be  complete.  The 
various  scientific  text-books  give  us  partial  reconstructions 
of  the  world  in  thought.  But  the  field  is  so  vast,  and  the 
possible  abstractions  so  many,  that  we  can  never  arrive  at 
an  end.  Indeed,  it  is  impossible  to  exhaust  the  knowledge 
of  the  smallest  part  of  the  world.  For  this  has  relations 
with  all  the  other  parts.  And  we  should  require  to  know 
all  those  as  well,  in  order  to  understand  fuUy  the  place  of 
this  one  in  the  whole.  This  is  what  Tennyson  meant 
when  he  wrote — 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 
I  hold  j'ou  here,  root  and  all,  in  mj'  hand. 
Little  tiower — but  if  I  could  understand 
What  j'ou  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is." 

The  teacher  who  appreciates  the  force  of  this  will  feel 
the  value  of  all  the  observation,  comparison,  description 


IDEATION.  157 

and  definition  which  we  demand  of  children.  We  are 
helping  them  to  think,  to  get  an  intelligent  view  of  the 
world  around  them.  In  other  words,  we  are  helping 
them  to  develop  that  power,  or — if  we  consider  the 
physiological  aspect — that  series  of  cortical  centres,  which 
distinguishes  man  from  the  animals  :  we  are  developing 
their  rationality. 

This  power  of  thinking  is  not  a  superficial  luxury. 
The  building  up  of  our  abstract  ideas  into  systems  re- 
presenting various  aspects  of  the  concrete  world  is  not  a 
mere  intellectual  pastime.  Our  systems  of  abstract  ideas 
enable  us  to  understand  the  world  and  to  turn  its 
forces  to  our  use.  This  is  the  meaning  of  the  statement — 
Knoxdedge  is  power.  It  is  through  the  agency  of  science 
that  man  is  gradually  bringing  the  forces  of  Nature  under 
his  control.  Civilised  nations  are  to-day  served  by  great 
armies  of  invisible  slaves.  And  some  are  beginning  to 
dream  of  the  time  when  little  more  will  be  necessaiy 
than  to  touch  a  few  buttons  in  order  to  cause  all  necessary 
things  to  be  done.  We  soar,  then,  into  the  abstract  in 
order  to  gain  a  more  efficient  grasp  of  the  concrete. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  conception  always  involves 
judgment.  Our  concepts,  under  normal  circumstances, 
occur  in  sentences,  expressed  or  understood.  Now  when 
we  are  in  the  realm  of  thought  proper  we  are  interested 
in  ideas  and  their  connections.  In  other  words,  we  are 
interested  in  the  universal  aspect  of  experience.  Hence 
our  judgments  will  not  be  about  particular  things.  It 
follows  that  even  the  subjects  of  our  sentences  will  be 
general  or  abstract  terms.  Thus,  in  thinking,  we  are 
occupied  chiefly  with  such  judgments  as,  All  plants  require 
food.  All  equilateral  triangles  are  equiangular.  Such 
judgments  are  called  universal  propositions.  It  will  be 
seen  that  general  or  abstract  ideas  are  referred  to  both 
by  their  subjects  and  their  predicates.  Many  of  our 
judgments  of  every-day  life,  those  used  in  description  and 
narration,  contain  true  abstract  ideas  only  in  the  pre- 
dicate. Take,  for  instance,  John  is  pale,  He  is  breathless 
with  excitement.  Such  statements  are  known  as  singular 
propositions. 


158  IDEATION. 


Questions  on  Chapter  VIII. 

1.  Illustrate  the  value  of  words  in  forming  abstract  ideas  by 
reference  to  the  early  teaching  of  number. 

2.  How  may  the  maxim  Proceed  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract 
be  misinterpreted  ? 

3.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  denotation  and  the  connotation 
of  a  term  ?    Is  there  any  connection  between  the  two  ? 

4.  What  is  the  value  of  an  observation  lesson  from  the  point  of 
view  of  ideation  ? 

5.  What  is  a  definition  ?  What  is  the  advantage  of  the  de- 
finition per  genus  et  differentiam  ? 

6.  Why  should  children  be  required  to  frame  definitions  for 
themselves,  before  hearing  the  correct  form  which  is  in  the  mind  of 
the  teacher  ? 

7.  Write  brief  notes  of  a  lesson  on  the  Nature  of  a  Gas,  indicat- 
ing clearly  how  the  various  ideas  are  arrived  at  by  comparison. 

8.  The  words  man,  dog,  hoy,  may  occur  in  my  mind  both  during  a 
process  of  imagination  and  during  one  of  thought  proper.  What 
difference  would  there  be  in  the  ideas  arising  in  connection  with 
them  ? 


CHAPTER   IX. 


Ideation  (III.).— Keasoning. 

We  have  seen  in  the  last  chapter  that  ideas  become  con- 
nected together  into  systems.  These  systems  do  not  merely 
consist  of  ideas  considered  as  independent  units.  They 
are  in  many  cases  organic  wholes,  owing  their  existence  to 
more  intimate  connections  between  ideas  than  mere  juxta- 
position. Ideas  are  related  together  in  such  a  way  that 
some  imply  others.  Take  the  three  ideas  of  whole,  greater 
and  part.  A  person  who  has  acquired  these  three  ideas 
can  only  relate  them  together  in  a  certain  way.  He  can 
only  think  of  the  whole  as  being  greater  than  a  part. 
Indeed,  he  cannot  acquire  the  idea  wJiole  without  at  the 
same  time  developing  some  notion  of  the  other  two.  Or 
take  an  example  from  less  abstract  ideas,  which  admit  of 
more  connections.  With  the  ideas  mothers,  daughters  and 
love  I  can  frame  the  judgments,  Mothers  love  daughters 
and  Daughters  love  mothers.  But  if  I  place  both  mothers 
and  daughters  as  the  objects  of  love,  I  feel  the  necessity  of 
a  new  subject.  I  can  fix  on  men  or  worthy  men  as  that 
subject.  JBut  I  cannot  fix  on  apples,  or  pears,  or  virtues. 
For  I  should  then  have  what  I  recognise  as  an  absurd 
combination  of  ideas.  It  is  clear,  then,  that,  if  I  respect 
reality,  I  cannot  relate  ideas  in  any  fashion.  They  are  of 
such  a  nature  that  certain  necessary  relations  hold  among 
them. 

There  has  been  some  dispute  among  philosophers  as  to 
the  origin  of  these  necessary  connections  among  ideas. 
According  to  some,  the  mind  makes  them,  i.e.  the  mind  is 
of  such  a  nature  that,  as  soon  as  it  has  certain  ideas,  it 

159 


160  IDEATION. REASONING. 

necessarily  relates  them  in  certain  ways.  According  to 
other  philosophers,  we  become  aware  of  these  relations 
by  a  process  similar  to  that  by  which  the  individual  ideas 
are  obtained.  This  seems  to  be  the  more  satisfactory 
view.  We  do  not  dig  out  our  ideas  one  by  one.  They 
are  abstracted  from  the  concrete  in  systems  corresponding 
to  that  concrete.  A  given  idea,  therefore,  is  not  a  unit, 
capable  of  entering  into  any  kind  of  combination,  but 
rather  a  link  in  a  chain,  with  connections  already 
established. 

There  is  thus  a  higher  type  of  conception  which  goes 
on  concurrently  with  the  simpler  kind  sketched  in  the 
preceding  chapters.  It  consists  not  merely  in  singling 
out  individual  ideas  from  the  concrete,  but  in  abstracting 
several  ideas  connected  together  in  a  system.  It  is 
impossible  to  mark  off  these  two  grades  of  conception 
very  distinctly  one  from  the  other.  In  developing  one 
abstract  idea  we  are  of  necessity  developing  one  or  more 
other  ideas  which  bear  some  relation  to  the  first.  Thus, 
even  in  obtaining  the  simple  abstract  idea  of  ivMte,  the 
child  may  also  be  forming  a  notion  of  blacJc.  And  he  is, 
further,  more  or  less  clear  that  one  idea  is  opposed  to  the 
other.  But  in  many  of  the  more  complicated  cases,  con- 
ception involves  the  abstraction  of  a  whole  system  of  ideas, 
related  together  in  certain  ways.  We  have  already  noted 
the  example.  The  ivJiole  is  greater  than  its  part.  Such 
systems  are  continually  being  abstracted  by  observation 
of  concrete  happenings.  Thus,  after  observation  of  many 
particular  examples,  we  discover  that  2  +  3  =  5,  that 
2  X  3  =  6,  that  every  effect  has  a  cause,  and  so  on. 

This  more  complicated  process  of  ideation  or  conception 
is  usually  referred  to  as  induction  or  indtictive  reasoning. 
If,  however,  we  distinguish  sharply  between  conception 
on  the  one  hand  and  reasoning  on  the  other,  and  if  we 
denominate  the  process  in  question  by  the  former  name, 
we  have  no  need  of  the  word  induction  here.  This  term 
is,  however,  frequently  employed,  especially  in  books  on 
the  theory  of  teaching,  not  only  for  the  higher  forms  of 
conception,  but  often  for  the  more  elementary  kinds. 
All  lessons  which  involve  the  framing  of  concepts  or  ideas 


IDEATION. REASONING.  161 

by  comparison  of  concrete  examples  are  usually  said  to 
follow  the  "  Inductive  Method." 

Our  ideas,  then,  are  connected  together  in  systems  of 
necessary  relations.  It  is  obvious  that  the  richer  our  stock 
of  ideas  and  the  more  clearly  they  are  grasped,  the  more 
familiar  we  become  with  the  relations  which  exist  between 
them.  As  we  progress  in  this  way,  we  are  able  not  only 
to  move  about  more  freely  in  the  world  of  thought,  but  to 
predict  or  divine  new  facts  in  the  concrete  independently  of 
direct  experience.  Mental  activity  of  this  kind  is  often 
prompted  by  curiosity.  As  Ave  come  to  understand  something 
of  the  world  in  terms  of  ideas,  there  is  a  thirst  to  know  more, 
and  the  pleasure  of  success  incites  to  increased  activity. 

Further,  the  struggle  for  life  often  requires  that  we  shaU 
understand  more  of  our  environment.  When  a  man  is 
confronted  by  a  new  situation  which  will  not  allow  of  his 
customary  methods  of  acting,  he  does  not,  as  a  ride,  con- 
tinue with  futile  attempts,  but  he  begins  to  think,  i.e.  he 
tries  to  arouse  some  system  of  ideas  with  which  to  under- 
stand the  situation  more  thoroughly,  so  that  he  may  be 
able  to  tackle  it  more  successfully.  Such  progress  by 
means  of  our  grip  of  ideational  systems  is  known  as 
reasoning.  Any  progress  in  understanding,  or  adding  to 
our  knowledge  of,  the  world  by  means  of  abstract  ideas 
may  be  included  under  this  term. 

Now  we  have  seen  in  the  two  preceding  chapters  how 
ideas  arise.  They  are  formed  from  the  concrete  in  the 
process  of  direct  experience  of  that  concrete.  And  this 
will  account  for  all  our  ideas,  both  particular  and  general, 
if  we  remember  in  the  case  of  the  latter  that  there  are 
ascending  degrees  of  abstractness,  and  that  when  once  we 
rise  above  the  first  level  (which  includes,  for  instance,  such 
ideas  as  black,  ivhite,  red,  bhoe,  heavy,  light,  srpiare,  roimd) 
the  lower  of  two  levels  must  be  considered  as  "  concrete  " 
with  respect  to  the  higher  (e.g.  hlaclc,  tvhite,  red  may  be 
considered   as    "  concrete "  with  respect   to   colour).^     If, 

'This  more  elastic  meaning  of  "concrete"  has  already  been 
referred  to  in  the  previous  chapter.  It  is  very  important  to  bear 
it  in  mind  in  the  course  of  what  follows.  As  a  rule,  it  will  be 
indicated  by  quotation  marks. 

FUND.  PSY.  11 


162  IDEATION. REASONING. 

tlien,  the  process  of  conception,  as  we  have  traced  it, 
accounts  for  all  our  ideas,  it  might  be  asked:  How  can 
any  further  progress  be  made  in  the  way  now  indicated  by 
the  term  reasoning  ? 

The  answer  is  that  reasoning  is  not  essential!}'  a  pro- 
cess of  ci-eating  new  abstract  ideas  :  it  is  fundamentally  a 
process  of  utilising  the  ideational  systems  which  already 
exist,  in  order  to  add  to  our  knowledge  of  the  "  concrete  " 
from  which  those  ideas  were  originally  developed.  It 
might  be  argued  that,  if  Ave  add  to  our  knowledge,  we 
must  {2^80  facto  add  to  our  ideas.  We  certainly  do  add  to 
our  "  concrete  "  ideas  in  this  way.  But  the  point  is  that 
none  of  the  elements  out  of  which  the  new  knowledge  is 
constructed  is  new.  We  merely  have  a  rearrangement 
of  old  elements.  The  new  knowledge  at  which  we  -arrive 
is  only  a  bit  more  of  the  "  concrete."  Such  an  addition 
to  our  "  concrete  "  knowledge  need  not  involve  any  new 
abstract  idea,  though  it  may  go  far  to  sharpen  and  clarify 
those  ideas  which  we  already  possess. 

To  take  an  example  from  ordinary  life,  a  doctor  knows 
that  diiferent  foods  produce  different  effects.  But  he  may 
require  to  know  what  kind  of  food  is  best  for  a  particular 
individual  under  special  circumstances.  He  may  have  to 
"  think  "  about  it,  i.e.  to  reason.  In  other  words,  he  uses 
the  ideational  systems  which  he  already  possesses  in  order 
to  settle  this  concrete  problem.  And  when  the  thing  is 
done,  he  may  possess  no  7iew  ideas  about  food  and  its 
effects,  though  his  old  systems  may  have  been  further 
clarified  and  more  firmly  established.  He  has,  then, 
"  worked  out "  a  bit  more  of  the  "  concrete  "  under  the 
guidance  of  the  ideas  which  he  already  possessed. 

In  conception  we  soar  to  the  abstract.  But,  as  was 
pointed  out  in  the  last  chapter,  the  object  of  soaring  to 
the  abstract  is,  not  to  remain  thei'e,  but  to  gain  a  deeper 
understanding  of  the  concrete,  and  to  be  able  to  deal  with 
the  latter  more  satisfactorily.  This  dealing  with  the  con- 
crete in  the  light  of  our  ideational  systems  is  reasoning. 

Reasoning,  therefore,  involves  finding  our  way  about  in 
a  portion  of  the  "  concrete  "  under  the  guidance  of  the  idea- 
tional system  which  corresponds  to  it.   Each  higher  system 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  163 

of  ideas  forms,  as  it  were,  a  guide-book  or  map  of  the 
"  concrete  "  from  which  it  has  been  derived.  It  therefore 
enables  us  to  go  from  one  "  concrete  "  fact  which  we  know 
by  direct  experience  (or  by  being  told)  to  another  "  con- 
crete "  fact  which  we  do  not  know  by  direct  experience. 

A  person  sometimes  hits  upon  the  concrete  which  he 
wants  by  chance.  This,  of  course,  would  not  be  reasoning, 
though,  unless  he  confessed  to  the  nature  of  his  sviccess, 
other  people  might  not  be  any  the  wiser.  A  beginner  at 
billiards  was  once  being  coached  by  an  expert.  The  latter 
told  him  to  hit  his  own  ball  smartly  at  a  certain  point  on 
one  side,  so  as  to  drive  it  in  a  given  direction,  and  added 
that  the  ball  would  describe  a  certain  course.  But  the 
beginner  was  not  satisfied.  He  wanted  to  know  why  this 
effect  would  be  produced.  It  was  not  sufficient  for  him  to 
bring  oft"  this  particular  shot.  He  wished  to  undeistaiid 
the  matter,  i.e.  to  acquire  the  necessary  ideational  system 
whereby  other  desirable  effects  could  be  produced  under 
varying  concrete  conditions. 

It  is  important  to  remember  that  the  abstract  by  itself 
can  never  give  us  the  multifarious  fulness  of  the  concrete ; 
it  merely  lays  down  a  more  or  less  complete  scheme  or 
plan  of  the  corresponding  concrete  reality.  In  just  the 
same  way,  a  map  cannot  give  us  the  corresponding  land- 
scape in  all  the  richness  of  perception.  It  indicates  towns 
here,  rivers  there,  roads  in  this  direction,  hills  in  that. 
But  it  cannot  show  us  these  things  in  all  their  concrete 
reality. 

We  are,  however,  deeply  interested  in  getting  to  know 
the  real  or  concrete  world.  Even  if  curiosity  does  not 
spur  us  on,  it  is  in  many  cases  essential  for  existence  that 
we  should  find  out  things  which  we  cannot,  on  account  of 
the  nature  of  the  circumstances,  perceive.  We  are,  in 
other  words,  continually  being  presented  with  a  portion 
of  the  concrete,  and  we  desire  to  infer  another  portion. 
We  acquire,  of  course,  much  direct  knowledge  of  the  con- 
crete in  the  process  of  framing  our  abstract  systems  of 
ideas.  For  we  must  have  considerable  perceptual  experience 
in  order  to  obtain  those  ideas.  But  when  once  we  have 
done  this,  when  once  we  have  hit  upon  the  plan,  we  can  go 


164  IDEATION. REASONING. 

beyond  our  actual  observations,  and  from  a  portion  given 
infer  another  portion  which  is  not  perceivable  at  the 
moment,  but  which  our  abstract  scheme  indicates  as  a 
necessary  complement  of  the  former. 

Thus,  if  I  know  that  a  house  is  built  on  clay  soil  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill,  I  infer  that  it  will  be  damp  in  the  rainy 
season.  In  general,  we  may  say  that,  when  we  are  con- 
fronted by  any  "  concrete  "  difficulty,  we  try  to  select  some 
abstract  plan  to  direct  us  from  the  concrete,  or  relatively 
"concrete,"  fact  which  is  presented  to  us  (the  datum  of 
our  reasoning)  to  another  fact,  the  like  of  which  we  have 
already  perceived  in  framing  our  ideas,  but  which  is  not 
immediately  perceivable  by  us  in  this  particular  case. 

Reasoning,  then,  always  begins  with  some  "  concrete  " 
fact  or  facts,  given  or  known  to  us ;  and  it  ends  by  the 
discovery  of  some  other  "  concrete  "  fact  of  which  we  can 
frame  an  idea  (based  on  previous  experience),  but  which  is 
not  given  in  the  present  instance.  And  this  is  possible  on 
account  of  a  system  of  abstract  ideas  which  governs, 
or  applies  to,  this  particular  sphere  of  the  "  concrete." 

Dr.  Bosanquet  has  expressed  the  same  view  of  reasoning, 
though  in  somewhat  different  language.  Using  the  term 
inference  instead  of  reasoning,  he  says  :  "  Ultimately  the 
condition  of  inference  is  always  a  system.  And  it  will 
help  us  in  getting  a  vital  notion  of  inference,  if  we  think, 
to  begin  with,  of  the  interdependence  of  relations  in  space 
— in  geometrical  figures,  or,  to  take  a  commonplace  example, 
in  the  adjustment  of  a  Chinese  puzzle  or  a  dissected  map. 
Or  any  of  the  propositions  about  the  properties  of  triangles 
are  a  good  example.  How  can  one  property  or  attribute 
determine  another,  so  that  you  can  say,  '  Given  this,  there 
must  be  that '  ?  This  can  only  be  answered  by  pointing 
to  the  nature  of  the  whole  with  parts,  or  a  system,  which 
just  means  this,  a  group  of  relations  or  properties  of 
things  so  held  together  by  a  common  nature  that  you  can 
judge  from  some  of  them  what  the  others  must  be."^ 

Now  a  guide-book  may  be  used  in  two  ways.  It  may 
be  employed  to  identify  objects  when  we  come  upon  them, 

'  Bosanquet,  Essentials  of  Logic,  p.  140. 


IDEATION. — KEASONING.  165 

And  it  may  be  used  to  find  oui'  way  from  one  object  wliicli 
we  have  already  seen  and  identified  to  another  which  we 
Avish  to  discover.  The  latter  process  corresponds  most 
truly  to  reasoning.  But  the  process  of  identification  is  a 
necessary  preliminary,  and  we  may  therefore  consider  first 
those  cases  in  which  a  "  concrete  "  fact  is  merely  recognised 
as  an  instance  of  an  abstract  system  without  any  further  pro- 
gress in  the  "  concrete."  This  process,  which  is  a  necessary 
preliminary  to  all  the  more  complex  forms  of  reasoning,  is 
known  as  explanation.  It  is  sometimes  done  under  the 
spur  of  mere  curiosity,  but  usually  it  is  undertaken,  as  we 
have  just  seen,  for  a  more  practical  motive.  We  explain 
one  tiling  in  order  that  we  may  predict,  or  prepare  for 
dealing  with,  others  of  like  nature. 

By  explanation,  then,  is  meant  showing  that  some  fact 
which  has  been  observed  fits  into,  or  is  a  "  concrete " 
instance  of,  a  certain  ideational  system  which  already 
exists  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer.  It  is  obvious  that  I 
cannot  explain  a  fact  to  you  in  terms  of  a  certain  system  of 
ideas  unless  you  also  have  that  system  already  developed 
in  your  mind  and  ready  to  be  revived  when  the  cor- 
responding words  are  employed.  Thus  different  explana- 
tions are  necessary  at  different  stages  of  development. 

"  Consider,  for  example,  the  following  answers  to  the 
question :  '  Why  does  the  book  fall  when  I  loose  my  hold 
of  it  ?  ' 

(a)  Because  it  is  heavy. 

(6)  Because  all  bodies  fall  unless  prevented  from  so 
doing. 

(c)  Because  of  the  earth's  attraction. 

(d)  Because  all  bodies  attract  each  other  with  a 
force  directly  proportional  to  their  masses,  and  in- 
versely as  the  square  of  the  distance. 

"  Which  of  these  answers  shall  be  given  depends  entirely 
upon  the  person  who  raises  the  question — the  range  of 
his  organised  experience,  of  his  knowledge,  in  other  words. 
The  first  answer  might  serve  for  a  very  small  boy,  the 
second  for  one  of  eight  or  nine  perhaps,  and  so  on. 


166  IDEATION. REASONING. 

"  So  with  all  our  explanations.  We  shall  have  to  decide 
just  how  far  we  can  carry  them.  Everything  depends 
upon  the  systems  into  which  the  boys'  knowledge  is 
already  organised."  ^ 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  explanation  is  the  soul  of  reason- 
ing. It  involves  hitting  upon  the  system  of  ideas  which 
corresponds  to  the  "  concrete  "  case.  Unless  we  can  do 
this,  we  certainly  cannot  go  on  to  predict  anything  further 
of  the  "  concrete." 

Some  of  the  instances  just  quoted  were  very  simple. 
The  answer  "  Because  it  is  heavy  "  involves  a  very  crude 
system  of  ideas.  And  many  would  refuse  to  call  it  explana- 
tion. Some  psychologists,  however,  would  descend  to  still 
more  simple  cases  for  instances.  Thus  the  simplest  forms 
of  observation  (usually  called  perception)  are  sometimes 
cited  as  cases  of  reasoning.  When  a  child  sees  a  new  cat 
and  calls  it  by  its  right  name,  he  may  be  said  to  be  explain- 
ing this  new  apparition  in  terms  of  an  idea  which  he 
already  possesses.  But  a  case  such  as  this  involves  only 
a  generic  idea :  it  is  so  nearly  automatic  that  it  seems 
absurd  to  dignify  it  by  such  names  as  explanation  or 
reasoning. 

The  analogy  of  the  guide-book  will  be  found  constantly 
useful  in  helping  us  to  understand  what  reasoning 
involves.  Each  of  us  frames  his  own  guide-book  by 
processes  of  conception  or  ideation.  When  he  ttses  it,  he 
is  said  to  be  reasoning.  A  person  who  knows  his  guide- 
book thoroughly,  and  is  much  interested  in  the  things 
which  it  indicates,  can  use  it  quickly  and  skilfully  on  any 
occasion,  whether  to  identify  an  object  which  confronts 
him  or  to  find  his  way  from  one  object  to  another.  He 
can  readily  find  the  page  he  tvants.  So  a  person  who  has 
developed  clear  systems  of  ideas,  and  is  interested  in  the 
"  concrete  "  corresponding  to  them,  can  select  swiftly  the 
system  he  requires  to  explain  any  "  concrete "  situation 
which  presents  itself,  or  to  go  on  to  predict  what  another 
portion  of  the  "  concrete  "  will  be.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  we  possess  a  very  large  number  of  systems  of  ideas. 

'  Green  and  Birchenough,  A  Primer  of  Teaching  Practice,  p.  49. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  167 

Unless,  therefore,  they  are  clearly  developed  and  well 
arranged,  we  are  likely  to  fall  into  confusion  when  attempt- 
ing to  make  iise  of  them.  We  either  select  the  wrong 
system,  or  we  fail  to  select  any  at  all. 

In  actual  practice  we  usually  require  very  careful 
scrutiny  of  what  is  given,  and  a  clear  idea  of  that  to  which 
it  is  required  to  pass,  in  order  that  the  right  ideational 
system  for  explaining  or  indicating  the  connection  between 
the  two  may  be  aroused.  We  are  often  so  taken  up  with 
the  consideration  of  these  two  factors  that  we  are  unaware 
of  the  fact  that  ideational  machinery  must  be  set  in  motion 
by  them  in  order  that  the  necessary  progress  may  be  made. 
It  remains  true,  however,  that  reasoning  involves  essentially 
the  finding  of  that  ideational  system  which  meets  the  case, 
i.e.  which  covers  the  field  of  our  "given"  and  of  our 
"  wanted,"  and  is  thus  able  to  suggest  the  "  means,"  or 
the  connection  between  them. 

If  we  lack  tlie  necessary  ideational  system,  scrutiny  will 
not  help  us  (unless  it  can  create  the  required  ideational 
system  by  new  processes  of  conception).  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  do  not  scrutinise  our  problem  carefully,  we  may 
call  up  the  wrong  system,  or  we  may  fail  to  call  up  any 
system  at  all.  We  sometimes  fail,  therefore,  from  want  of 
ideas,  and  sometimes  from  want  of  careful  examination. 
The  latter  may  be  due  not  to  lack  of  striving,  but  to  the 
fact  that  the  concrete  presented  is  so  complex  that  we 
cannot  grapple  with  it  successfully.  Many  cases  of  failure 
in  reasoning  are  due  to  the  complexity  of  a  "  concrete  " 
which  baffles  examination. 

In  such  cases  we  require  someone  else  to  explain  the 
matter  to  us.  Observe,  however,  that  he  cannot  give  tis 
any  ideas.  (Teachers  should  always  remember  this.)  He 
can  only  use  words.  These  words  excite  in  o\u-  minds 
the  necessary  ideas,  if  we  j^ossess  them,  and  we  are  now  able 
to  understand  the  matter.  Can  we,  in  such  a  case,  be 
said  to  be  reasoning  ?  Most  people  would  be  inclined  to 
answer  in  the  affirmative.  But  such  "reasoning"  is  of  a 
poorer  type  than  that  which  is  done  by  ourselves.  The 
words  of  another  call  up  a  system  of  ideas  which  we  were 
unable  to  hit  upon    by  an  independent  scrutiny   of  the 


168  IDEATION. REASONING. 

"  concrete."  When  once  this  system  of  ideas  is  aroused, 
and  if  it  is  aroused  with  sufficient  completeness,  the  rest 
is  fairly  simple.  The  traveller  who  cannot  use  his  guide- 
book unaided  is  not  so  intelligent  as  the  one  who  can  find 
the  page  and  gain  the  required  information  by  himself. 

In  all  such  processes  of  interaction  between  the  "  con- 
crete "  and  the  abstract,  we  do  not  merely  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  the  moment  and  add  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
"  concrete."  We  further  develop  our  ideational  systems. 
For  although  we  have  noted  that  reasoning,  as  such,  does 
not  produce  new  ideas,  it  must  be  observed  that,  since  in 
reasoning  we  are  dealing  with  the  "  concrete,"  the  corre- 
sponding ideas  are  rendered  still  more  definite.  In  other 
words,  the  work  of  conception  is  to  some  extent  repeated 
and  improved. 

Reasoning,  then,  shows  that  we  have  a  good  grasp  of 
our  ideational  systems  in  a  given  sphere,  and  also  im- 
proves that  grasp.  In  applying  our  knowledge  we  render 
it  more  definite.  Indeed,  throughout  the  whole  mental 
life,  we  may  be  said  to  learn  by  doing,  if  only  the  word 
doing  be  understood  in  the  widest  sense.  Reverting  once 
again  to  the  analogy  of  the  guide-book,  we  may  point  out 
that  a  person  gains  familiarity  with  such  books  hy  tcsing 
them.  In  so  doing,  he  improves  his  knowledge  of  the 
town  or  country  with  which  he  is  dealing,  and  this  throws 
fresh  light  on  the  meaning  of  the  guide-book. 

But  there  is  a  still  more  definite  way  in  which  reasoning 
reacts  upon  conception.  Hitherto  we  have  supposed  that 
there  is  always  a  more  or  less  complete  ideational  system 
on  the  one  hand,  and  a  knowledge  of  part  of  the  corre- 
sponding "  concrete  "  on  the  other  ;  and  that  in  reasoning 
the  latter  is  added  to  by  means  of  the  former.  But  in 
actual  practice  the  matter  is  not  so  straightforward.  In 
using  his  guide-book,  each  of  us  frequently  discovers  gaps 
in  it,  and  is  led  to  fill  them  up  by  additional  obsei'vations. 
In  other  words,  much  conception  takes  place  under  the 
guidance  of,  and  in  the  service  of,  reasoning.  We  cannot 
wait  until  we  have  a  complete  set  of  ideational  systems 
before  we  begin  to  use  them  for  the  purposes  of  reasoning. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  169 

We  are  forced  to  grapple  with  the  concrete  long  before  we 
have  satisfactory  ideational  systems  to  guide  us.  It  is, 
indeed,  in  this  struggle  that  we  are  led  to  seek  further 
ideas.  As  soon  as  a  child  has  developed  a  few  crude 
ideational  systems,  he  begins  to  feel  the  need  of  more  and 
higher  ones.  For  those  he  has  do  not  meet  all  the 
concrete  difficulties  in  which  he  finds  himself.  Prompted 
by  curiosity,  he  is  contini;ally  asking  "Why?  "  "How?" 
"  What  for  ?  "  And  this  curiosity  may  be  made  the  mo- 
tive for  much  careful  observation  and  consequent  ideation. 

We  see,  then,  that  in  using  the  ideational  systems  which 
we  already  possess  to  grapple  with  new  concrete  cases,  we 
become  aware  of  our  intellectual  imperfections.  The 
ideas  we  already  possess  are  not  sufficient  to  solve  the 
concrete  problem.  They  serve  only  to  make  us  aware  of 
our  need  and  to  guide  us  in  the  search  for  further  ideas. 
They  direct  us  in  additional  investigation  of  the  concrete. 
Further  observations  or  experiments  are  conducted.  And 
in  the  course  of  these  observations  or  experiments  we 
arrive  at  new  ideas  (by  conception).  In  such  cases,  then, 
the  process  of  reasoning  can  only  work  itself  out  by 
further  conception.  New  ideas  are  born  under  the  direc- 
tion of  reasoning  processes,  i.e.  through  the  guidance  of 
our  observations  by  the  ideas  which  we  already  possess. 

This  is  perhaps  the  highest  form  of  reasoning,  and  if  the 
word  imhiction  is  to  be  used  for  something  distinguishable 
from  conception  on  the  one  hand  and  reasoning,  as  we  have 
defined  it,  on  the  other,  it  might  well  be  applied  to  this 
complex  product  of  both.  Now  since,  as  we  develop,  the 
processes  of  conception  are  more  and  more  conducted, 
under  the  guidance  of  other  ideas  which  demand  this 
further  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  the  concrete,  since, 
in  other  words,  our  processes  of  observation  and  experi- 
ment, together  with  their  immediate  ideational  results, 
usually  form  part  of  a  greater  and  more  comprehensive 
effort  at  reasoning,  it  may  be  said  that  a  large  amount  of 
conceidion  is  to  some  extent  an  aspect  of  induction. 

As  we  develop  intellectually,  we  do  not  go  about  observ- 
ing and  "  picking  up  "  id(;as  indiscriminately  :  we  have  a 
purpose,  i.e.  we  liave  an   ideational  system   which  needs 


170  IDEATION. REASONING. 

completing.  In  actual  life  the  order  :  "  Proceed  from  tlie 
concrete  to  the  abstract,  and  then  use  the  abstract  to 
unravel  more  of  the  conci'ete"  cannot  be  carried  out  very 
simply.  We  often  find  our  abstract  insufficient  to  un- 
ravel the  concrete ;  and  we  have  to  approach  the  con- 
crete as  learners  once  again.  There  is  thus  a  continual 
oscillation  between  the  concrete  and  the  abstract,  the 
latter  continually  demanding  further  illumination  from 
the  concrete  before  it  can  go  on  with  its  work  of 
unravelling. 

After  the  early  years  of  childhood,  conception  often 
proceeds  not  so  much  by  increasing  the  number  of  indi- 
vidual ideas  as  by  the  development  of  new  systems,  formed 
largely  of  the  old  ideas  in  new  combinations,  and  corre- 
sponding, of  course,  to  the  new  portions  of  the  concrete 
which  are  examined.  And  the  process  of  induction  which 
we  have  outlined  is  concerned  principally  with  a  re- 
examination of  the  concrete  to  see  if  it  corresponds  to  the 
ideational  systems  which  we  have  constructed  in  order  to 
explain  it.  Such  tentative  ideational  constructions  are 
often  called  hypotheses.  Often  a  large  number  of  them 
are  constructed  by  observation  of  the  concrete  in  the 
light  of  the  ideas  which  we  already  possess.  But,  when 
further  examined,  or  when  put  to  a  concrete  test,  they  are 
one  after  another  found  to  be  wanting.  And  it  may  be  a 
long  time  before  the  right  system  to  fit  the  case  is  finally 
constructed.  When  it  is  at  last  found,  it  is  due  partly  to 
the  influence  of  the  ideational  systems  ali'eady  possessed, 
partly  to  the  more  careful  observation  of  the  concrete. 
In  other  words,  reasoning  and  conception  are  inextricably 
intermingled. 

This  pui'posive  production  of  new  ideational  systems 
should  be  encouraged  in  connection  with  the  observation 
lessons  of  the  upper  school.  In  other  words,  we  should 
endeavour  to  evoke  as  much  Heurism  (or  real  investiga- 
tion) as  is  possible  on  the  part  of  the  boys.  When, 
therefore,  our  lads  make  guesses  at  the  causes  of  things, 
we  should  not,  in  the  light  of  our  superior  knowledge, 
throw  cold  water  upon  their  hypotheses.  If  any  thought 
is  displayed  in  their  suppositions,  we  should  welcome  it, 


IDEATION — REASONING.  171 

aud,  as  far  as  time  will  permit,  allow  the  pupils  to  put 
their  ideas  to  the  test. 

The  following  is  au  ideal  example  of  such  a  process, 
carried  on  under  the  most  favourable  conditions  by  a  nine- 
year-old  Eughsh  boy. 

"  He  finds  a  kind  of  rainbow  on  the  floor.  He  calls  his 
sister  to  see,  and  wonders  how  it  came  there.  The  sun 
shines  brightly  through  the  window.  The  boy  moves 
several  things  about  upon  which  the  light  falls,  saying, 
'  This  is  not  it.  ISTor  this.'  At  last,  when  he  moves  a 
tumbler  of  water,  the  rainbow  vanishes.  There  are  some 
violets  in  the  tumbler,  which  he  thinks  may  explain  the 
colours  on  the  floor,  but,  when  the  violets  are  removed, 
the  colours  remain.  Then  he  thinks  it  may  be  the  water. 
He  empties  the  glass,  the  colours  remain,  but  they  are 
fainter.  Tliis  leads  him  to  suppose  that  the  water  and  the 
glass  together  make  the  rainbow.  '  But,'  he  adds,  '  there 
is  no  glass  in  the  sky,  yet  there  is  a  rainbow,  so  that  I 
think  the  water  alone  would  do,  if  we  could  hold  it 
together  without  the  glass.'  He  then  pours  the  water 
slowly  out  of  the  tumbler  into  a  basin,  which  he  places  in 
the  sunlight  and  sees  the  colours  on  the  floor,  twinkling 
behind  the  water  as  it  falls."  ' 

This  example  assumes  possibly  more  ideational  control 
then  any  intelligent  normal  boy  of  such  au  age  would 
possess.  But  it  indicates  in  an  exaggerated  form  the  kind 
of  thing  we  should  try  to  obtain  from  our  children.  In 
actual  practice,  the  teacher  will  have  to  help  and  direct 
the  observations  of  the  children.  But  he  should  be  ever 
on  his  guard  against  telling  and  directing  too  much.  He 
should  always  remember  that  the  power  of  finding  out  can 
best  be  developed  by  actually  engaging  in  it.  His  chief 
business  is  to  awaken  a  real  desire  to  find  out,  and  to 
direct  the  endeavours  of  the  boys  only  when  he  sees  that 


'  Edgeworth's  Practical  Education,  Vol.  I.,  pp.  84,  85  (Passage 
(juoted  by  Dr.  Kimmins  in  his  addiess  on  "  Science  Tuacliing  in 
Schools  "  in  Education  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  p.  134).  The  whole 
requoted  by  (Jreen  and  Birchenougli,  Primer  of  Teaching  Practice, 
pp.  1.'54,  15il. 


172  IDEATION. REASONING. 

they  are  likely  to  go  so  far  from  the  road  that  they  will 
be  discouraged. 

We  have  seen  that  when  a  child  has  a  good  grasp  of  a 
system  of  ideas,  he  can  explain  new  facts  in  the  concrete 
for  himself.  Teachers  often  make  use  of  this  truth  to  test 
the  child's  grasp  of  a  system  of  ideas.  This  satisfies  the 
teacher  as  to  the  intellectual  grip  of  the  child,  exercises 
the  latter  in  employing  his  ideational  systems  in  the  only 
way  in  which  they  are  useful  (i.e.  in  dealing  with  the 
concrete),  and  at  the  same  time  further  develops  those 
ideas  and  their  connections  in  the  child's  mind. 

This  process  may  be  called  a  form  of  explanation.  But 
in  this  case  we  are  viewing  it  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  system  of  ideas  rather  than  from  that  of  the 
concrete  instances.  On  account  of  this  difference  it 
is  often  called  apjjlication.  The  child  both  shows  that 
he  has  grasped  the  ideas  and  at  the  same  time  renders 
them  more  definite  and  efiicient  by  applying  them  to 
new  cases.  Thus,  when  a  child  has  had  a  lesson  on 
porous  bodies,  he  can  explain  why  fine  sand  thrown  on 
writing  which  is  still  wet  will  dry  it. 

What  is  an  exjjlanation  from  one  point  of  view  becomes 
an  ap2)l{catio)i  when  looked  at  from  the  other.  Thus  a 
little  girl  of  seven  years  quarrelled  with  her  younger  brother 
with  respect  to  the  possession  of  a  chair,  which  she  wished 
to  secure  for  herself.  Her  father  pointed  out  another 
one,  exactly  like  it,  saying  :  "  Here  you  are,  one  chair  is  as 
good  as  another."  She  turned  the  argument  deftly  by 
saying  to  her  brother :  "  One  chair 's  just  as  good  as 
another  :  so  you  have  that  one."  Her  keen  desire  to  keep 
possession  of  the  particular  chair  in  dispute,  and  her 
thorough  understanding  of  her  father's  argument,  enabled 
her  to  see  that  it  applied  just  as  well  to  the  arrangement 
whereby  her  brother  should  take  the  other  chaii*.  Her 
father's  use  of  the  statement,  "  One  chair  is  as  good  as 
another  "  may  be  considered  as  an  explanation  of  why  she 
should  take  another  chair.  Her  own  use  of  the  expression 
showed  that  she  not  only  grasped  the  system  of  ideas  but 
was  able  to  make  an  ajiplication  of  it  to  a  new  case  (which 
suited  her  wishes  morej. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  173 

But  application  ofteu  includes  more  thaii  tins.  The 
system  of  ideas  may  enable  us  not  merely  to  recognise 
and  interpret  a  concrete  whole,  but  to  complete  some  con- 
crete instance  ivlien  only  a  part  of  it  is  given.  Thus  a  boy 
who  understands  the  general  circumstances  which  deter- 
mine climate  can  not  only  exj^lain  why  a  given  country 
has  a  certain  climate,  but  he  can  "  work  out  "  the  climate  of 
a  country  of  which  the  various  conditions  are  stated.  A 
boy  who  understands  Highest  Common  Factor  and  how  it 
is  obtained,  can  find  the  H.C.F.  of  any  two  or  more 
numbers.  In  such  cases  the  system  of  ideas  enables  us  to 
find  our  way  about  in  the  "concrete";  to  complete  it 
when  parts  only  are  given  ;  in  general,  to  arrive  at  new 
results  independently  of  direct  experience  of  the  reality  in 
question.  This,  as  we  have  already  noted,  is  reasoning 
par  excellence.  Tt  is  the  discovery  of  something  new  by 
means  of  the  ideational  systems  which  we  already  grasp. 

We  have  seen  that  the  person  who  takes  a  step  forward 
into  the  "unknown"  by  himself  is  reasoning  in  a  truer 
sense  than  the  one  who  can  only  take  the  step  Avhen  it  is 
shown  to  him.  We  may  compare  these  two  kinds  of 
reasoning  to  the  corresponding  kinds  of  constructive 
imagination.  Between  the  activity  of  Milton  in  writing 
Paradise  Lost  and  that  of  the  person  who  reads  and  under- 
stands that  epic,  there  is  the  same  difference  as  there  is 
between  the  person  who  works  out  a  proof  or  makes  an 
inference  by  himself  and  the  one  who  is  only  able  to 
appreciate  the  whole  when  completed.  All  these  persons 
acquire  a  new  outlook.  But  the  inventor  is  doing  work  of 
a  higher  type  than  the  mere  appreciator  of  the  invention. 
The  former  grasps  his  pi'eliminary  images  or  ideas  so 
firmly,  and  possesses  such  a  fund  of  conative  force  in  con- 
nection with  them,  that  he  makes  his  own  headway  into 
the  "  unknown."  The  latter  can  only  follow  on  the  beaten 
track. 

It  does  not  follow,  however,  that  all  types  of  invention 
involve  moi-e  or  liigher  mental  activity  than  all  types  of 
understanding.  A  young  child  can  do  some  originative 
work,  both  in  the  sphere  of  images  and  in  that  of  ideas, 
long  before  he   can    rise    to    an    understanding    of    the 


174  IDEATION. REASONING. 

complex  inventions  of  others.  A  little  boy  of  two-and- 
a-lialf  was  playing  at  being  a  baker.  His  father,  not 
knowing  this,  entered  the  room  and  asked  him  for  a  kiss. 
"  I'm  a  baker,"  he  replied.  His  father  persisted,  asking 
him :  "  "Well !  why  won't  you  give  me  a  kiss  ?  "  He 
answered  quite  clearly,  "  Because  bakers  don't  give 
kisses."  His  ideational  system  concerned  with  bakers 
represented  these  men  as  too  dignified  for  such  homely 
lapses  as  kissing.  Here,  then,  was  a  simple  case  of 
reasoning  (explanation)  of  the  originative  kind.  Yet  this 
little  boy  was,  of  course,  quite  unable  to  follow  any 
complex  train  of  ideas  originated  by  somebody  else — a 
proposition  in  geometry,  for  example. 

It  remains  true,  nevertheless,  that  originative  reasoning 
is  the  finest  product  of  human  intelligence.  It  is  this 
kind  of  mental  activity  that  enables  man  to  make  use  of 
his  abstract  ideas  in  grappling  with  his  environment,  and 
consequently  to  deal  with  it  more  effectively  than  the  lower 
animals  can.  The  feebler  or  interpretative  type  is  chiefly 
useful  in  developing  systems  of  ideas,  and  suggesting  lines 
of  attack  which  may  ultimately  be  of  service  in  originative 
reasoning.  We  may,  perhaps,  speak  of  the  originative 
kind  as  reasoning  proper.  It  occurs,  or  should  occur,  very 
frequently  in  connection  with  the  pi-actical  pursuits  of  life. 
Many  who  are  unable  to  follow  the  complex  reasonings  of 
others  are  yet  very  successful  in  using  the  ideational 
systems  they  themselves  possess  with  readiness  and  swift- 
ness in  every  emergency.  And,  vice  versa,  some  who 
possess  great  stores  of  ideational  systems,  and  are  able  to 
follow  the  most  abstruse  arguments  of  others,  are  singu- 
larly feeble  when  confronted  with  new  situations. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  schools  of  the  past  have 
unduly  exalted  this  latter  type.  Many  boys  who  were  not 
particularly  rich  in  ideas,  though  able  to  make  good  use  of 
those  they  did  possess,  were  imappreciated.  They  were 
given  no  real  problems  within  their  power  to  solve.  They 
therefore  appeared  dull  and  stupid.  But  they  have  often 
been  remarkably  successful  in  after  life,  far  outstripping 
their  more  intellectual  comrades.  The  schools  are  now 
waking  up  to  this  mistake,  and  self-activity  is  a  word  on 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  175 

the  lips  of  every  educationist.  lu  the  field  of  reasoning  it 
is  represented  by  what  we  have  called  reasoning  proper. 
We  shall  now  examine  this  process  still  more  carefully. 

Reasoning  proper  is  the  finding  of  means  to  ends  by 
the  aid  of  ideation.^  It  conforms  in  its  plan  to  the  scheme 
already  described.  A  certain  ideational  system  (in 
common  with  many  others)  has  been  elaborated  (by  con- 
ception) during  past  experience  from  the  "  concrete " 
sphere  in  which  the  pi'esent  data,  means,  and  end  are  to  be 
found.  Or,  if  it  has  not  been  sufiiciently  developed  in  the 
past,  it  is  now  more  completely  elaborated.  (For  we  have 
seen  that  conception  often  takes  place  under  the  stress  of 
reasoning,  and,  indeed,  that  in  all  cases  the  latter  tends  to 
the  further  development  of  the  former.)  This  ideational 
system  is  now  either  re-excited  or  (in  so  far  as  it  has  never 
been  completely  extracted  in  the  past)  aroused  for  the  first 
time.  The  re-excitation  or  arousal  of  the  ideational  system 
in  question  is  conditioned  by  a  careful  examination  of  the 
data  with  a  view  to  obtain  the  end. 

Much  of  the  difficulty  in  most  cases  is  found  here.  The 
data  may  be  complex  and  confusing,  and  may  thus  tend  to 
arouse  many  ideational  systems  which  are  not  relevant  to 
the  end  in  view.  Or  the  end  may  not  be  kept  in  mind 
with  sufficient  clearness  to  guide  the  examination  of  the 
data  into  the  proper  channels.  If,  however,  the  relevant 
ideational  system  is  excited,  it  enables  us  to  discover  the 
means  which  connect  the  data  with  the  end,  so  that  we 
can  pass  from  the  former  to  the  latter. 

The  word  end  implies  that  we  are  "  after  "  something. 
We  have  Bovcie  purpose  in  view.  In  other  Avords,  a  conation 
is  in  progress.  This  is  perhaps  more  obvious  in  reasoning 
than  in  some  of  the  other  states  we  have  lately  been  con- 
sidering. On  account  of  this,  and  because  of  its  great  im- 
portance in  reasoning,  we  speak  of  it  here,  whereas  we  have 
neglected  to  refer  to  it  in  dealing  with  perception,  imagina- 
tion, and  ideation.  But  since  these  processes,  at  any  rate 
in  their  higher  forms,  are  directed  by  reasoning,  it  is  ob- 
vious that,  on  this  account  alone,  conation  is  present  in 
them.  We  shall  see  later,  however,  that,  even  apart  from 
reasoning,  they  often  possess  other  conative  forces.     They 


176  IDEATION. REASONING. 

all  involve  some  amount  of  attention,  and  this,  as  will  be 
seen  later,  is  determined  by,  or  is  an  aspect  of,  or — accord- 
ing to  some  writers — is  itself  conation.  Here,  however,  we 
are  attempting  to  examine,  and  to  trace  the  development  of, 
mental  processes  considered  as  forms  of  cognition.  And 
with  the  briefest  reference  to  the  importance  of  a  force  to 
drive  on  the  machinery,  we  shall  confine  ourselves  as  far 
as  possible  to  the  purely  cognitive  aspect. 

In  reasoning  we  always  start  from  something  given. 
In  the  higher  types  of  reasoning  we  start  from  genei'al 
ideas  and  hope  to  reach  some  further  ideational  result. 
(All  this,  however,  must  be  considered  as  "  concrete " 
with  respect  to  a  still  higher  system  by  which  we  are 
enabled  to  deal  with  it.)  In  the  "lower"  processes  of 
practical  life,  what  is  given  is  some  present  perceptual 
situation  Avhich  we  desire  to  modify  in  order  to  produce  a 
certain  I'esult.  The  result  at  which  we  hope  to  arrive  is 
the  end  already  referred  to. 

What  is  this  end  to  us  at  the  beginning  of  the  process  ? 
It  is  obvious  that  it  does  not  yet  exist  in  perceptual 
reality ;  otherwise  there  would  be  no  need  for  our  efforts. 
We  have,  however,  a  more  or  less  clear  idea  of  the  kind  of 
thing  we  require,  and,  in  connection  with  that  idea,  there 
is  an  impulse  towards  its  realisation.  Tliis  impulse,  how- 
ever, cannot  work  itself  out  by  mere  force  (though  its 
force  is  most  essential)  -.  it  must  lead  to  a  careful  scrutiny 
of  the  concrete  situation.  That  situation  consists  of  a 
certain  state  of  affairs  which  it  is  desired  to  change,  so 
that  the  situation  represented  by  the  idea  of  the  end  may 
be  secured.  Obviously,  then,  we  require  to  discover  a 
means  whereby  the  present  situation  may  be  converted 
into  the  desired  one.  That  means  is  a  missing  link  in  the 
"concrete"  chain.  And  it  can  only  be  supplied  (unless 
we  come  upon  it  by  accident)  from  above ;  i.e.  we  must  be 
able  to  hit  upon  that  system  of  abstract  ideas  which  refers 
to  this  particular  series.  Hence  we  must  examine  the  two 
known  things  (present  situation  and  desired  situation — the 
former  in  its  relation  to  the  latter)  as  carefully  as  possible. 
In  doing  this,  various  ideational  systems  may  be  aroused, 
only   to  be  found  unsuitable.      But,  sooner  or  later,  the 


IDEATION. REASONING.  177 

relevant  system  may  be  excited,  ami  this  will  enable  us  to 
discover  the  missing  link.  We  often  speak  in  this  con- 
nection of   a  "happy  idea"  striking  us. 

It  is  related  that  an  intelligent  engineer  was  once 
dismissed  from  his  post,  in  spite  of  his  ability,  on  account 
of  his  drunken  habits.  Some  time  later,  the  complex 
engine  which  he  had  supervised  got  out  of  order,  and  after 
all  the  engineering  staff  had  failed  to  set  it  right,  the  old 
employe  was  sent  for.  He  made  a  brief  inspection,  then 
took  a  hammer,  and  made  a  few  taps  on  a  certain  part  of 
the  machinery.  In  a  trice  all  was  right  again.  His 
former  master  asked  him  his  charge.  He  claimed  five 
guineas.  On  being  asked  to  state  particulars  to  justify 
this  sum,  he  wrote  something  like  the  following  : — 

£   s.    d. 

To  tapping  with  hammer  0     5     0 

,,  Icnoiving  where  to  tap     5     0     0 

Total  ^5     5     0 

The  concrete  work  (the  missing  link)  was  not  worth 
much  in  itself.  But  the  value  of  the  possession  of  the 
ideational  system  necessary  to  discover  what  required  to 
be  done  was  perhaps  not  over-estimated. 

In  all  cases  we  shall  find  that  success  is  obtained  by 
making  some  judgment  or  judgments  with  respect  to  what 
is  given  to  start  with.  But  as  we  have  seen  in  the  last 
chapter,  every  judgment  implies  an  abstract  idea — at  any 
rate  in  its  predicate.  Hence  it  is  clear  that  we  arrive  at 
our  end  by  means  of  ideation.  And  this  is  the  essence  of 
all  originative  reasoning.  Some  "  happy  idea,"  aroused 
l-)y  our  observation  of  the  data,  enables  us  to  proceed  on 
the  course  to  which  the  idea  of  our  end,  together  with  the 
conation  involved  with  it,  impels  us.  The  term  "  happy 
idea  "  is  only  another  name  for  the  conception,  occurring 
in  the  course  of  our  examination,  which  opens  up  to  us 
the  system  of  ideas  governing  the  whole  "  concrete " 
sphere. 

Let  us  take  first  of  all  a  simple  example  from  ordinary 
practical  life.     A  man  finds  that  a  door  will  not  shut.     If 

FUND.  PSY.  12 


178  IDEATION. REASONING. 

he  is  an  expert  in  these  matters,  i.e.  if  he  has  already  had 
much  experience  with  doors  of  all  kinds,  the  "  happy 
idea,"  or,  as  we  often  call  it,  the  reason,  will  occur  to  him 
with  little  effort.  He  has  dealt  with  a  similar  case  before, 
and  the  reason  of  that  is  suggested  at  once  in  the  present 
instance.  (Why  that  reason  should  occur  now  we  shall 
discover  in  dealing  with  the  principles  of  Association  in 
the  chapter  on  Memory.) 

But  let  us  suppose  that  he  has  never  had  such  a  case 
before.  If  he  is  intelligent,  he  does  not  continue  blindly 
to  push  at  the  door.  He  examines  it.  He  discovers  that 
it  has  been  newly  painted,  and  that  the  paint  has  made  it  a 
little  larger,  so  that  it  will  not  fit  into  the  sjjace  which  was 
just  hig  enough  for  it  before  the  painting.  He  has  dis- 
covered the  reason,  and  he  proceeds  to  get  a  knife  or  a 
plane  to  remove  the  paint  in  the  places  where  it  opposes 
the  shutting  of  the  door.  (This  getting  and  using  of  a 
tool  also  implies  reasoning  someivhere.  For  much  thought 
has  been  necessary  to  devise  an  instrument  to  serve  such 
a  purpose  as  that  in  question.  But  this  thought  has  been 
done  by  others  long  ago,  and  it  merely  occurs  to  us  now 
in  accordance  with  the  principles  of  memory.) 

Now  every  man  of  normal  intelligence  in  a  civilised 
community  has  formed  the  abstract  idea  implied  by  the 
terms  newly  iminted.  And  he  has  also  framed  the  ideas 
involved  in  saying  that  if  anything  be  applied  to  anything 
else,  the  whole  is  larger  than  either  of  the  parts.  Further, 
he  knows  that  if  a  thing  just  fits  into  a  certain  space,  it 
will  not  fit  if  it  is  made  any  larger.  The  man  in  question 
has  gained  all  these  ideas  in  connection  with  his  past  ex- 
perience.    They  are  due  to  processes  of  ideation. 

In  what  then  is  reasoning  superior  to  ideation  ?  Simply 
in  the  fact  that  the  7iecessary  ideas  to  solve  the  difficulty  in 
question  are  hit  upon,  all  other  ideas  which  might  arise  being 
neglected.  The  man  has  found  the  right  page  of  his  guide- 
book to  help  him  in  the  present  emergency.  The  given 
situation  was  carefully  observed  and  analysed  by  means  of 
the  ideas  arising  in  the  course  of  that  observation.  Of  the 
qualities  and  relations  brought  to  hght  in  this  observation 
some  were  seen  to  have  no  connection  with  the  difficvdty  of 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  179 

shutting  the  door.  Foi-  instance,  the  man  might  have 
examined  the  state  of  the  hinges,  and  found  that  they  were 
quite  satisfactory.  He  might  also  have  examined  the  door- 
posts and  hntel,  and  found  that  they,  too,  were  not  ab- 
normaL  But  other  qualities  and  relations  were  seen  to  be 
connected  with  the  trouble,  and  means  were  hit  upon  to 
deal  with  them.  We  see,  then,  that  even  this  apparently 
simple  case  involves  a  large  system  of  ideas,  and  that  it 
was  necessary  for  thought  to  travel  along  these  trains  of 
ideas  before  the  problem  was  solved. 

Much  has  been  written  on  the  question  whether  any  of 
the  higher  animals,  such  as  dogs  and  elephants,  can  or 
cannot  reason.  If,  however,  we  deny  to  them  the  power 
of  forming  abstract  ideas,  it  follows  at  once  that  they 
cannot.  They  see  things  as  ivholes.  They  cannot  by 
conceptual  analysis  break  them  up  into  their  parts  and 
discover  the  relations  between  those  parts,  so  as  to  modify 
or  rearrange  them.  Many  wonderful  stories  have  been 
told  of  the  intelligence  of  dogs.  But  it  is  necessary  to 
remember  the  caution  of  Principal  Lloyd  Morgan  :  we 
should  never  suppose  a  more  complicated  mental  process 
than  is  absolutely  essential  to  account  for  any  action. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  very  often  considerablQ  additions 
are  made  to  the  feats  of  these  dumb  animals— often  in 
good  faith — by  their  human  admirers.  In  practically  all 
cases,  however,  it  will  be  found  that  the  higher  type  of 
ideation  which  is  known  as  abstraction  is  wanting.  Thus 
Professor  James  writes  as  follows : — 

"  A  friend  of  the  writer  gave  as  a  proof  of  the  almost 
human  intelligence  of  his  dog  that  he  took  him  one  day 
down  to  his  boat  on  the  shore,  and  found  the  boat  full  of 
dirt  and  water.  He  remembered  that  the  sponge  was  up 
at  the  house,  a  third  of  a  mile  distant ;  but,  disliking  to 
go  back  himself,  he  made  various  gestures  of  wiping  out  the 
boat  and  so  forth,  saying  to  his  terrier,  '  Sponge,  sponge ; 
go  fetch  the  sponge.'  But  he  had  little  expectation  of 
a  result,  since  the  dog  had  never  received  the  slightest 
training  with  the  boat  or  the  sponge.  Nevertheless,  oft'  he 
trotted  to  the  house,  and,  to  his  owner's  great  surprise  and 
admiration,  brought  the  sponge  in  his  jaws.     Sagacious  as 


180  IDEATION. — REASONING. 

this  was,  it  required  nothing  but  ordinary  contiguous 
association  of  ideas. ^  The  tei'rier  was  only  exceptional  in 
the  minuteness  of  his  spontaneous  observation.  Most 
terriers  would  have  taken  no  interest  in  the  boat-cleaning 
operation,  nor  noticed  what  the  sponge  was  for.  This 
terrier,  in  having  picked  those  details  out  of  the  crude 
mass  of  his  boat-experience  distinctly  enough  to  be 
reminded  of  them,  was  truly  enough  ahead  of  his  peers  on 
the  line  which  leads  to  human  reason.  But  his  act  was 
not  yet  an  act  of  reasoning  proper.  It  might  fairly  have 
been  called  so  if,  unable  to  find  the  sponge  at  the  house, 
he  had  brought  back  a  dipper  or  a  mop  instead.  Such  a 
substitution  would  have  shown  that,  embedded  in  the 
very  diiferent  appearances  of  these  articles,  he  had  been 
able  to  discriminate  the  identical  attribute  of  capacity  to 
take  up  water,  and  had  reflected,  '  For  the  present  purpose 
they  are  identical.'  This,  which  the  dog  did  not  do,  any 
man  biit  the  very  stupidest  could  not  fail  to  do. 

"  If  the  reader  will  take  the  trouble  to  analyse  the  best 
dog  and  elephant  stories  he  knows,  he  will  find  that,  in 
most  cases,  this  simple  contiguous  calling  up  of  one  whole 
by  another  is  quite  sufficient  to  explain  the  phenomena."  ^ 

As  an  example  of  a  case  in  which  ideation  is  certainly 
necessary,  and  in  which,  consequently,  the  dog  does  not 
shine,  we  may  take  the  following  incident  cited  by 
Principal  Lloyd  Morgan  : — 

"  Dr.  Alex.  Hill's  fox-terrier  Peter  was  taught  to  open 
the  side  door  of  a  large  box  by  lifting  a  projecting  latch. 
When  the  door  swimg  open  he  Avas  never  allowed  to  find 
anything  in  the  box,  but  was  given  a  piece  of  biscuit  from 
the  hand.  The  development  of  the  situation  was  always 
to  the  end  of  thus  obtaining  a  bit  of  biscuit  outside  the 
box.  One  day  a  well-browned,  hot,  redolent  chop-bone 
was  put  inside  the  box,  which  was  placed  in  a  courtyard  so 
that  the  dog  would  pass  it  when  nobody  was  near,  though 
he  could  be  watched  from  a  window.  Details  of  the  dog's 
behaviour  are  given  by  Dr.  Hill  in  Nature  (April  16,  1903, 

'  The  nature  of  this  association  will  be  expl.ained  in  our  next 
chapter. 

2  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  349,  350. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  181 

page  558).  The  net  result  was  that  the  dog  failed  to 
apply  at  once  his  quite  familiar  experience  of  lifting  the 
latch  in  the  usual  way.  The  situation,  lonely  box  and 
exciting  grilled  bone  inside,  was  not  assimilated  to  the 
familiar  box-master-biscuit  situation,  and  the  central 
feature  common  to  both — the  lifted  latch — was  not  grasped. 
He  had  no  experience  of  finding  bones,  or  anything  to 
eat,  inside  ;  the  meaning  of  lifting  the  latch  was  always, 
for  him,  the  getting  of  a  piece  of  biscuit  from  outside,  and 
he  failed  to  draw  the  conclusion,  so  obvious  to  us,  that 
opening  the  door  was  the  key  to  the  practical  problem 
before  him.  He  failed  to  assimilate  the  new  presentations 
to  his  previous  experience — or  so  it  seemed.  We  may 
perhaps  infer  that  he  did  not  analytically  compare  the  two 
situations  so  as  to  disentangle  the  essential  features  com- 
mon to  both. 

"  Many  cases  of  apparent  stupidity  in  children  (an 
intei'esting  field  of  inquiry)  may  be  explained  on  similar 
lines.  They  are  due  to  incapacity  or  temporary  failure 
to  grasp  analytically  some  important  feature  embodied  in 
the  present  situation — a  feature  obvious  enough  to  us,  but 
not  seen  by  them,  as  the  hinge  on  which  the  successful 
application  of  experience  turns."  ^ 

Such  cases  as  this  emphasise  a  most  important  point 
on  which  we  have  already  touched,  but  to  which  it  is  worth 
while  reverting  in  this  connection.  A  given  ideational 
system  does  not  represent  the  whole  of  the  corresponding 
conci'ete.  We  abstract  certain  features  or  aspects  only. 
The  concrete  comprises  a  much  richer  variety  than  any 
abstract  system  of  ideas  can  hope  to  portray.  Now  a 
number  of  concrete  situations  which  present  themselves 
to  us  may  differ  widely  in  many  respects,  though  they 
are  all  instances  of  some  given  abstract  system.  The 
intelligence  of  the  reasoner  is  shown  in  seeing  the  one  in 
the  many.  A  person  who  has  been  trained  by  practice  to 
deal  with  a  given  concrete  situation  may  go  on  to  deal 
with  practically  similar  situations  in  a  mechanical  way 
which  involves  no  reasoning.      Dogs  and    elephants  can 

'   Lloyd  Morgan,  P!<>/c/tolo(/i/  for  Teachers,  pp.  109,  110. 


182  IDEATION. REASONING. 

be  got  to  do  this.  But  when  the  situation  is  somewhat 
different,  so  that  it  does  not  awaken  the  same  generic  idea, 
and  thus  set  the  usual  response  in  action,  it  requires  the 
penetration  of  a  reasoner  to  see  that  the  essentials  for  the 
purpose  in  view  are  still  present.  Reasoning  is  thus  the 
power  to  deal  with  partially  new  conditions.  So  long  as 
we  can  go  on  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  before,  no  reason- 
ing is  required.  It  is  when  we  are  arrested  by  altered 
circumstances  that  thinking  is  necessary. 

When  a  practical  difficulty  has  once  been  solved,  all 
fairly  intelligent  people  can  see  that  a  way  out  has 
been  found.  They  can  see  more  or  less  clearly  that 
the  "happy  idea"  suggests  the  necessary  connection 
between  the  original  situation  and  the  end  to  be  achieved. 
Can  they  be  said  to  reason  in  so  doing  ?  We  have  already 
seen  that  this  is  usually  called  reasoning,  though  it  is 
of  a  lower  and  less  active  type.  When  once  all  the  ideas 
are  aroused  in  their  minds,  they  are  able  to  appreciate 
the  connections  between  them.  In  other  words,  they  are 
capable  of  sufficient  conceptual  power  to  understand  the 
thing  wlien  it  is  done.  But  their  familiarity  with  the 
necessary  ideational  system  was  not  sufficiently  great  to 
permit  of  its  being  aroused  in  connection  with  their 
unaided  examination  of  the  data. 

Sometimes,  however,  their  ideas  are  sufficiently  organ- 
ised, but  there  is  not  enough  conation  to  make  the  best  of 
them.  For  to  bring  ideas  out  clearly  keen  attention 
is  necessary  both  to  the  data  and  to  the  idea  of  the  end ; 
and  this  can  only  be  secured  by  strong  conative  force. 
To  put  the  matter  simply,  there  are  some  people  who 
could  solve  a  given  problem,  if  only  they  could  be  brought 
to  try  hard  enough. 

Now  this  has  important  bearings  on  the  work  of  the 
teacher.  Part  of  his  task  is  to  get  his  pupils  to  reason. 
Let  us  take  one  of  the  spheres  of  school  work  in  which 
reasoning  is  required — the  solving  of  "  problems "  in 
arithmetic.  Boys  can  be  trained  to  do  the  ordinary 
calculations  in  a  somewhat  mechanical  fashion.  But  it 
is  often  found  that  when  they  are  given  "  problems " 
to  solve,  they  are  at  a  loss.     They  are  inclined  to  "  toss 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  183 

up "  in  order  to  decide  whether  addition,  subtraction, 
multiplication,  or  division  is  the  best  solution. 

Some  teachers  attempt  to  meet  the  difficulty  by  thrash- 
ing out  the  problem  beforehand  with  the  class.  They 
often  get  some  assistance  from  the  boys.  But  it  is  usually 
from  a  few  of  the  sharpest.  The  average  boy  waits  until 
the  thing  is  done,  and  he  is  then  able  to  understand  it 
well  enough  to  work  it  over  again,  or  to  do  another  like 
it.  The  dull  boy  often  fails  to  rise  even  to  this  level. 
Now  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  if  the  teacher 
explains  the  problem  first,  the  reasoning  proper  is  done 
by  him.  It  is  poor  satisfaction  to  set  the  boys  on  to 
do  the  problem  when  the  lines  of  its  solution  have 
already  been  laid  down.  For  the  mechanical  calculation 
is  all  that  remains.  And  exercise  in  this  is  not  the  chief 
purpose  in  setting  problems. 

Many  teachers  pay  too  much  attention  to  results,  too 
little  to  the  j^focesses  by  which  those  results  have  been 
obtained.  Their  chief  object  seems  to  be  to  get  the  boys 
somehow  to  produce  correct  answers  to  problems.  And 
their  means  consist  in  thrashing  out,  with  or  for  the  boys, 
all  the  types  of  problem  which  they  imagine  can  be  set  by 
an  examiner.  They  are,  of  course,  much  annoyed  when 
the  examiner  produces  a  type  of  problem  somewhat 
differing  from  any  of  the  types  which  their  boys  have 
learned  to  "  do."  And  they  are  inclined  to  suspect  the 
examiner  of  malicious  intent. 

Now  there  are  examiners  whose  chief  delight  seems  to 
lie  in  "  stumping  "  their  unhappy  victims.  And  it  is  well 
to  remind  these  gentlemen  that  it  is  more  easy  to  expose 
the  ignorance  of  a  class  than  to  discover  its  knowledge. 
This  applies  as  much  to  arithmetic  as  to  all  other  sub- 
jects. But  in  the  realm  of  problems,  the  examiner  does 
not  as  a  rule  go  outside  the  knowledge  of  the  boys.  His 
problem,  however,  while  it  requires  a  basis  of  knowledge, 
necessitates  a  higher  faculty — that  of  reasonhig.  He  does 
not  wish  to  find  out  whetlier  tlie  boys  have  learned  to  do 
problems  like  those  that  the  teacher  has  explained.  He 
wishes  to  test  their  powers  of  attacking  problems  for 
themselves.     And  if   any   complaint  is  to    be  made  with 


184  IDEATION. — BEASONING. 

respect  to  the  problems  set  in  the  past,  it  is  that  examiners 
Lave  not  set  more  of  an  original  kind,  and  that,  conse- 
quently, many  teachers  have  felt  themselves  justified — or 
at  any  rate  "  safe  " — in  working  over  with  their  pupils  a 
variety  of  typical  problems,  some  of  which  were  almost 
sure  to  occur  in  the  examination. 

Thei-e  is  no  doubt  that  the  understanding  of  a  number 
of  typical  problems  and  the  working  of  a  few  examples 
of  each  will  be  of  some  value  to  the  pupils.  It  will 
make  their  ideas  clearer  and  more  interconnected.  It 
will  strengthen  the  basis  on  which  originative  reasoning 
must  work  in  the  sphere  of  problems.  But  if  it  is  carried 
on  too  far,  it  induces  the  -svrong  attitude  of  mind.  The 
working  of  problems  becomes  almost  as  mechanical  as  the 
numerical  calculations  themselves.  The  boys  can  do  what 
they  have  been  shown  how  to  do,  but  are  helpless  in  face 
of  a  strange  situation.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to 
introduce  some  changes  in  the  nature  of  the  problems 
very  early.  It  should  also  be  a  frequent  practice  to  set 
boys  problems  and  to  leave  them  to  struggle  with  their 
difficulties  unaided. 

It  is  not  meant  that  problems  should  be  thrown  at  the 
pupils  in  careless  and  irresponsible  fashion.  What  is 
necessai-y  is  that  the  teacher,  instead  of  devoting  his 
chief  energies  to  showing  the  boys  how  to  work  the 
problems  found  in  the  ordinary  books  on  arithmetic, 
should  expend  the  greater  share  of  his  attention  in 
devising  problems  which  will  call  out  the  reasoning  powers 
of  the  boys.  He  must  bear  in  mind  two  important  points. 
The  problems  must  in  the  first  place  be  within  the  compass 
of  the  knowledge  of  the  boys.  And,  secondly,  the  boys 
must  be  sufficiently  interested  in  them  to  attack  them  with 
vigour. 

Many  of  the  problems  foimd  in  the  arithmetic  books 
deal  with  conditions  which  are  never  likely  to  occur  in 
actual  life — least  of  all  in  the  lives  of  the  boys.  The  boys 
learn  in  a  mechanical  way  to  attack  them,  but  they  do  so 
under  the  guidance  of  the  teacher ;  they  themselves  do  not 
realise  the  full  meaning  of  the  words.  This  is  evidenced 
by  the  absurd  answers  Avhich  many  of  the  boys  produce — - 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  185 

ansAvers  wliicli  would  at  once  appear  ridiculous  to  a  person 
who  really  understood  the  nature  of  the  problem.  Even 
under  the  present  regime,  and  with  the  artificial  problems 
that  are  often  set,  the  teacher  would  do  well  to  spend  his 
"  preparation  "  period,  not  in  indicating  how  the  difficulty 
is  to  be  attacked,  but  in  examining  the  nature  of  the  given 
problem  with  the  boys,  thus  ensuring  that  they  thoroughly 
understand  what  is  postulated  and  what  they  are  required 
to  produce  from  it.^ 

Now  both  the  essential  preliminary  conditions  of  reason- 
ing— an  understanding  of  the  data  and  a  strong  impulse 
or  conation  towards  finding  the  solution— will  usually 
be  obtained  if  the  problems  set  are  living  ones.  It  has 
been  suggested  by  some  writers  that,  especially  with 
the  younger  children,  all  arithmetic — both  the  mere  cal- 
crdations  and  the  problems — should  be  taken  in  connection 
with  practical  work,  should,  in  fact,  grow  out  of  the  things 
they  are  doing,  as  it  does  in  the  work  of  the  world. 

A  boy  is  not  really  interested  in  finding  the  amount  of 
paper  necessary  to  cover  the  walls  of  an  imaginary  room. 
He  can,  of  course,  be  interested  by  external  reasons. 
He  may  work  hard  at  his  problem  in  order  to  distinguish 
himself,  or  in  order  to  get  out  to  play.  But  there  are 
quite  enough  other  tasks  in  school  which  require  external 
incentives.  And  the  teacher  should  husband  his  forces. 
Wherever  it  is  possible  to  create  an  interest  within  the 
subject,  that  should  be  done.  If  the  boy  has  himself  made 
a  box  and  is  lining  it  with  paper,  he  will  be  very  keen  on 
finding  out  how  much  he  will  require.  And  his  calcu- 
lations in  inches  will  be  quite  as  intricate  as  those  in  yards 
which  would  be  necessary  for  the  imaginary  room. 

A  good  example  of  the  way  in  which  a  boy  acquires  an 

'  The  writer  remembers  a  student  coming  to  liim  with  a  difficult 
problem.  He  began  liis  attempt  to  help  the  student  by  setting 
down  clearly  tlic  data.  Before  he  (tlie  writer)  had  had  time  to  see 
the  solution  himself,  the  student  exclaimed,  "  I  see  it  now,"  and 
went  away  satisfied.  The  student  was,  of  course,  already  partially 
acquainted  with  the  conditions  laid  down,  and  the  greater  clear- 
ness induced  by  the  systematic  statement  of  them  was  sufficient  to 
enable  him  to  see  his  way  without  fiirtlicr  explanation. 


186  IDEATION. — REASONING. 

interest,  even  in  difficult  tilings,  when  they  affect  his  own 
schemes,  is  given  bj  Professor  Adams.  "  John,"  he  tells 
us,  "was  a  perfectly  normal  type — clever  and  very  careless. 
Suddenly  the  mathematical  master  reported  an  amazing 
improvement  in  John's  marks.  On  investigation  the  im- 
provement was  found  to  limit  itself  to  mensuration.  Still 
further  iuquiry  narrowed  down  the  prodigy  to  areas  of  seg- 
ments of  circles ;  but  as  those  could  not  be  understood 
without  previous  work,  John  asked  and  obtained  permission 
to  work  from  the  beginning.  In  three  weeks  he  had  bored 
his  way  honestly  through  half  of  Todhunter's  Mensuration, 
and  was  very  eager  to  be  promoted  to  the  volumes  of 
spheres.  John  was  now  the  talk  of  the  masters'  room, 
where  nobody  had  a  good  word  to  say  for  him  except  the 
science  master,  who  reported  that  John  had  developed  a 
violent  interest  in  Chemistry,  and  was  showing  leanings 
towards  volumetric  analysis.  The  whole  trouble  was  after- 
wards traced  to  its  primary  bacillus  in  a  gigantic  balloon 
that  John  was  projecting.  How  to  cut  the  gores  drove 
him  to  Todhunter ;  how  to  calculate  how  much  zinc  and 
sulphuric  acid  were  necessary  to  float  his  balloon  with 
hydrogen  had  urged  him  to  Chemistry.  Balloon- making 
did  not  make  either  mensuration  or  Chemistry  easy  ;  it 
made  them  interesting."  ^ 

Space  will  not  permit  an  examination  of  all  the  other 
departments  of  school  work  in  which  reasoning  may  be 
developed.  But  similar  remarks  would  apply  in  these 
cases.  Wherever  possible,  the  teacher  should  get  the 
pupils  so  interested  in  their  work  that  they  will  be  willing 
and  anxious  to  reason  for  themselves. 

Most  writers  distinguish  two  kinds  of  reasoning — 
deduction  and  induction.  In  deduction,  they  tell  us,  we 
pass  from  general  laws  to  less  general  laws  or  to  particular 
cases ;  in  induction  we  proceed  from  the  examination  of 
particular  cases  to  the  formulation  of  general  laws.  We 
have  already  used  these  two  terms  in  speaking  of  methods 
of  teaching  in  the  last  chapter.     Examination  of  those 

1  Adams,  The  Herhartian  Psychology  applied  to  Education, 
pp.  264,  265. 


IDEATION. — KEASONING.  187 

methods  will  show  that  they  are  largely  in  harmony  with 
the  definitions  we  have  just  given. 

But  closer  examination  Avill  show  that  the  reasoning 
processes  involved  in  deduction  and  induction  are  similar. 
Deduction  corresponds  approximately  to  what  we  have 
called  application,  and  induction  to  explanation.  But  we 
found  that  application  and  explanation  are  not  at  bottom 
fundamentally  distinct.  In  both  cases  an  ideational  sys- 
tem is  necessary,  and  a  given  particular  case  is  brought 
under  it.  When  we  consider  the  matter  from  the  starting 
point  of  the  ideational  system,  we  use  the  term  application  ; 
when  we  begin  with  one  or  more  particular  cases  and 
reach  the  system  which  underlies  them,  we  are  more 
inclined  to  employ  the  term  explanation.  But  we  can 
employ  the  term  application  in  a  broad  sense  for  both 
operations.  For  in  both  cases  we  are  applying  our  idea- 
tional systems  to  particular  instances.  So  it  must  be  with 
the  corresponding  terms  deduction  and  induction. 

But  we  are  often  told  that  in  induction  we  start  from 
particular  facts  and  arrive  at  general  statements  of  which 
we  had  no  idea  beforehand.  ISIow  these  general  state- 
ments consist  of  ideas  in  certain  relations.  And  Ave  have 
already  given  a  name  to  the  process  of  arriving  at  general 
ideas  from  the  concrete.  That  name  is  conception  or 
ideation.  And  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be 
employed  in  complex  cases  as  well  as  in  the  more  simple 
ones.  Induction,  therefore,  thus  understood,  is  only 
another  name  for  the  higher  forms  of  conception  or 
ideation. 

Since  the  two  terms  dedtiction  and  indiiction  are  so 
frequently  employed,  it  will  be  well  to  consider  further 
instances  of  the  processes  usually  included  under  them. 

First,  of  deduction.  The  books  on  logic  usually  give 
some  instance  similar  to  the  following  : — 

All  rodents  have  chisel-teeth. 

All  mice  are  rodents. 

Therefore  all  mice  have  chisel-teeth. 

This  form  of  stating  the  results  of  reasoning  is  known 
as  the  syllogism.     The  first  two  statements  are  called  the 


188  IDEATION. REASONING. 

premisses  (or  data),  and  the  last  proposition  is  called  the 
conclusion.  It  will  be  noted  that  there  are  not  only  three 
propositions,  but  three  terms,  which  indicate  three  con- 
cepts or  ideas.  The  form  may  be  generalised  by  substi- 
tuting letters  for  the  terms.     We  then  have — 

Every  M  is  P. 

Every  S  is  M. 

.  • .  Every  S  is  P. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  one  term  (M)  occurs  in  each 
premiss,  but  not  in  the  conclusion.  It  indicates  the  idea 
through  which  the  conclusion  is  reached.  It  is  called  the 
middle  term. 

Now  it  may  occur  to  the  reader  that  if  the  two  premisses 
are  already  known,  little  if  any  effort  is  required  to  pass 
to  the  conclusion.  The  work  is  practically  done !  Any 
intelligent  person  could  state  the  conclusion.  Where,  then, 
does  the  reasoning  occur  ?  It  consists  in  finding  amongst 
the  knowledge  which  we  already  have  the  right  premisses 
for  our  particular  purpose.  The  statement  of  the  premisses 
(with  their  conclusion)  is  possible  only  after  the  reasoning 
has  taken  place.  Often,  indeed,  a  person  begins  with  the 
conclusion,  i.e.  he  "  feels  certain  "  of  its  truth,  but  is 
desirous  of  establishing  it  on  a  solid  ideational  basis.  If 
the  schematic  syllogism  for  such  a  case  be  examined,  it 
will  be  found  that  of  the  three  terms  S,  M  and  P,  I  am 
already  acquainted  with  S  and  P,  although  I  may  not  be 
sure  of  their  universal  connection.  There  is  only  one 
other  term  to  be  **  discovered  " — the  middle  term. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  middle  term  indicates  the 
ideational  system  or  reason  which  guarantees  the  conclu- 
sion. The  task,  indeed,  is  to  find  the  middle  term.  The 
essence  of  the  reasoning,  therefore,  consists  in  lighting  upon 
this  "  happy  idea."  Mice  are  thus  found  to  have  chisel- 
teeth,  not  on  the  basis  of  direct  observation,  but  on  the 
ground  of  an  ideational  system  (rodents  and  their  proper- 
ties) which  has  already  been  foinned  during  the  course  of 
past  experience,  and  whicli  guarantees  the  present  step  for- 
ward, independently  of  further  observation.  Instead  of 
re-examining  this  particular  species  (mice)  we  rely  on  the 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  189 

abstractions  which  have  ah'eady  beeu  made  in  connection 
with  the  formation  of  the  genus  (rodents)}  Our  original 
syllogism  would  more  faithfully  represent  the  process  of 
thought  if  it  were  expressed — All  mice  have  chisel- teeth, 
foi'  they  are  rodents. 

Often  the  conclusion  {i.e.  the  conclusion  of  the 
syllogism ;  we  have  seen  that  it  is  often  the  starting-point 
of  our  reasoning,  the  establishing  of  it  being  our  real  end) 
is  not  so  definitely  thought  of  as  we  have  supposed  in 
the  case  just  examined.  I  may  only  know  the  subject 
(<S)  to  begin  with,  but  I  may  have  a  vague  idea  of  some- 
thing (P)  which  could  be  predicated  of  it,  if  only  I  could 
find  the  "happy  idea"  (M),  or,  moi*e  properly,  the  idea- 
tional system  which  will  guarantee  it. 

Thus,  I  may  begin  by  thinking  about  the  area  of  a 
triangle.  I  may  not  know  the  formula  for  it,  but  I 
may  be  dimly  aware  that  one  is  to  be  found,  if  only  I  can 
think  of  an  idea  which  will  lead  to  it.  Of  course,  if  I  know 
nothing  of  mensuration  or  of  plane  figures,  I  am  not  likely 
to  succeed.  But  suppose  that  I  know  something  of  tri- 
angles and  parallelograms.  I  may  have  learned  that  every 
triangle  is  half  the  parallelogram  constructed  on  the  same 
base  and  with  the  same  height.  I  may  also  have  learned 
that  a  parallelogram  has  the  same  area  as  the  rectangle 
constructed  on  the  same  base  and  with  the  same  height. 
Lastly,  I  may  have  learned  that  the  area  of  a  rectangle  is 
b  X  h.     From  all  this  it  follows  that  the  area  of  half  a 

parallelogram  is  — — — .     If,  then,  I  think  of  a  triangle 

as  half  a  parallelogram,  my  conclusion  is  reached.  I  can 
state  the  reasoning  in  the  form  of  a  syllogism,  as  follows — 

The  area  of  half  a  parallelogram  is  — — - . 

The  area  of  any  triangle  =  the  area  of  half  a  parallelo- 
gram (on  same  base  and  of  same  height). 

Therefore  the  area  of  any  triangle  =  — - — . 

'  The  same  economical  process  was  referred  to  in  connection  witli 
classification  and  definition  (p.  144  fF.). 


190  IDEATION. REASONING. 

It  is  now  obvious  that  the  essential  point  of  the  reason- 
ing consists  in  conceiving  the  triangle  as  half  a  parallelo- 
gram. This  concept  is  the  middle  term.  It  may  be 
objected  that  I  already  had  this  concept.  Without  it, 
indeed,  I  could  not  achieve  my  result.  The  point,  how- 
ever, is  that  I  could  conceive  a  triangle  in  many  ways — as 
a  figure  whose  three  angles  are  equal  to  two  right  angles, 
as  a  figure  round  which  a  circle  can  be  described,  as  a 
figure  any  two  of  whose  sides  are  greater  than  the  third 
side,  and  so  on — but  I  was  sufiiciently  acute  to  see  that 
only  one  way  of  conceiving  a  triangle  (as  half  a  parallelo- 
gram) would  lead  to  the  end  I  desired  to  attain.  The 
course  of  my  reasoning  may  best  be  indicated  by  the 
statement :  The  area  of  a  triangle,  heing  half  that  of  the 
parallelogram  on  the  same  base  (b)  and  of  the  same  height 

.,.    .    b  xh 
{h),is  ^^-. 

We  see,  then,  that  in  deduction  the  essence  of  the  reason- 
ing consists,  as  in  all  the  other  cases,  in  lighting  upon  the 
"  happy  idea."  This  "  happy  idea  "  is  one  way  of  conceiv- 
ing or  judging  the  data  with  which  I  start ;  it  involves  the 
consideration  of  those  data  from  a  certain  point  of  view — 
from  the  point  of  view  of  that  ideational  system  which 
guarantees  the  connection  between  data  and  conclusion. 
Or,  reverting  once  again  to  analogy,  it  may  be  said  that 
the  "  happy  idea  "  is  like  the  turning-up  of  the  right  page 
of  my  guide  book,  or  of  the  right  map  in  my  atlas,  to  help 
me  in  the  given  situation. 

It  remains  now  to  examine  what  is  usually  called  induc- 
tion. Let  us  first  take  as  an  example  one  of  the  most 
common  lessons  usually  given  on  "  inductive  "  lines — the 
lesson  which  leads  from  examination  of  particular  cases 
to  the  statement  of  the  general  or  universal  truth  that 
All  metals  expand  when  heated.  The  teacher  performs  a 
number  of  experiments,  heating  iron,  brass,  and  perhaps 
other  metals  of  different  shapes  and  sizes,  and  allowing 
the  boys  to  notice  that  they  all  expand.  He  then  invites 
them  to  frame  a  general  statement  about  metals.  (Some- 
times, indeed,  he  ventures  to  jump  to  a  statement  with 
respect  to  all  solids !) 


IDEATION.^ — REASONING.  191 

Is  he  justified  in  doing  this  ?  Obviously  he  is  not. 
All  that  the  boys  have  a  right  to  state  is  that  the 
metals  which  they  have  observed  expand.  They  have  no 
right  to  generalise  and  say.  All  metals  expand  when 
heated.  "The  generalisation  suggested  is  only  the  first 
■wild  guess  of  the  untrained  mind  ;  to  treat  it  as  a  valid 
inference  is  to  introduce  utter  confusion  into  all  conception 
of  scientific  method."  ^ 

This  process  is  sometimes  justified  and  described  as 
reasoning  by  analogy.  Bitt  it  is  not  reasoning  ;  for  it  pro- 
duces no  reason.  It  amounts  to  saying :  Metals  are  alike 
in  some  respects ;  I  have  seen  some  expand  under  heat ; 
therefore  all  the  others  will  do  so.  But  there  is  no  ground 
for  such  a  conclusion.  At  the  most  it  can  be  called  only  a 
suggestion  or  hypothesis,  demanding  verification  before  it 
can  be  accepted  definitely.  "It  is  this  tendency  to  sub- 
stitute guess-work  for  real  investigation  .  .  .  which  has 
made  the  ordinary  '  practical '  man  so  suspicious  of  what 
he  calls  '  theory '  and  so  fond  of  contrasting  it  with 
'  practice,'  and  of  telling  us  that  '  an  ounce  of  fact  is 
worth  a  ton  of  theory.'  No  doubt  this  is  so  if  the  '  fact ' 
is  true  and  the  '  theory '  false,  but  between  trixe  theoi-y 
and  real  fact  there  is  no  opposition  at  all."  - 

Of  course,  where  the  resemblances  are  known  to  be 
connected  with  the  occurrences  inferred,  the  matter  is 
quite  different.  Thus  it  would  be  absurd  to  argue  from 
the  resemblances  of  two  bodies  in  colour,  size  and  shape, 
that  because  one  floats  on  water,  the  other  will  likewise 
do  so.  But  if,  neglecting  all  these  resemblances,  I  happen 
to  know  that  they  resemble  each  other  in  weight,  I  can  be 
confident  in  asserting,  on  the  ground  of  this  single  re- 
semblance, that  if  one  floats  on  water,  the  other  will  do  so 
as  well.  But  in  such  a  case,  "  our  argument  ceases  to  be 
analogical  and  becomes  demonstrative,  our  conclusion 
passes  from  a  supposition  or  hypothesis  into  an  established 
truth."  ^  In  other  words,  I  have  hit  upon  an  ideational 
system  (that  connected  with  weight)  which  enables  me  to 

'  Welton,  The  Logical  Bases  of  Education,  pp.  259,  260. 
«  Op.  cit.,  pp.  170,  171. 
3  0^.  cit.,  p.  181. 


192  IDEATION. REASONING. 

pass  from  one  concrete  case  (of  floating)  which  is  given, 
to  another  which  I  can  infer. 

What,  then,  is  the  teacher  to  do  in  such  a  lesson  as  that 
on  the  expansion  of  metals  by  heat  ?  After  a  number  of 
experiments,  he  should  refer  to  many  other  instances,  and 
finally  tell  the  boys  that  men  have  found  all^  metals 
expanding  with  heat.  This  is  not  a  process  of  reasoning, 
but  it  is  far  better  than  inducing  the  boys  to  jump  to 
conclusions  vnth  insufficient  grounds.  "  One  of  the  chief 
advantages  derived  from  the  teaching  of  natural  and 
physical  science  should  be  the  recognition  by  the  pupils  of 
the  difficulty  of  arriving  at  truth,  and  of  the  need  of 
caution  in  making  inferences  from  insufficient  evidence."^ 

It  might  be  asked :  What  is  the  use  of  the  experiments, 
if  the  boys  have  to  be  told  the  general  truth  in  the  end  ? 
Their  chief  use  is  to  enable  the  boys  to  conceive  clearly  the 
nature  of  that  truth.  They  form  the  basis  of  ideation. 
But  that  ideation,  in  so  far  as  it  is  entirely  determined  by 
them,  cannot  be  called  reasoning  in  the  sense  we  have 
specified  in  this  chapter. 

Many  other  so-called  "  inductive  "  lessons  in  school  are 
likewise  devoid  of  reasoning  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term. 
They  requii-e  careful  observation  and  comparison  of  several 
particular  cases,  and  the  consequent  noting  of  some 
common  characteristic.  This,  once  again,  involves  idea- 
tion or  judgment.  But  it  is  a  judgment  prompted  entirely 
by  the  obsei'vations  made.  It  does  not  involve  the  selec- 
tion of  an  idea  or  system  of  ideas  with  a  distinct  con- 
sciousness of  an  end  to  which  that  ideational  system  will 
point  the  way.  It  is,  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  guided  by  some 
other  system  of  ideas,  nothing  more  than  conception  or,  if 
we  may  so  style  it,  simple  ideation.  The  lesson  sketched 
in  the  last  chapter  on  adverbial  phrases  and  clauses  was  of 
this  type.  The  teacher,  of  course,  sees  the  end  to  which 
the  lesson  is  leading.  But  from  the  nature  of  the  case 
the  boys  cannot  do  so.  They  have  not  yet  formed  the 
ideas  in  question,  and  can  only  arrive  at  them  by  making 

1  There  are,  of  cour.se,  a  few  slight  exceptions. 
^  Welton,  op.  cit.,  p.  260. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  19S 

observations  uuder  the  teacher's  guidance.  This  is,  of 
course,  a  most  important  exercise,  and  many  lessons  are 
quite  rightly  conducted  on  this  plan.  It  may,  perhaps, 
still  be  called  the  "  Inductive  Method,"  so  long  as  we  are 
quite  clear  as  to  its  character.  The  term  "  induction " 
has  now  become  very  common  as  applied  to  such  lessons, 
and  it  might  only  lead  to  further  confusion  to  attempt 
any  change  in  terminology. 

It  should  always  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  if  the 
term  induction  is  to  be  used  to  imply  reasoning,  it  must 
include  the  finding  of  a  satisfactory  explanation  for 
something  observed.  Not  mere  conception  should  be 
called  induction,  but  conception  n)ith  a  purpose,  i.e.  guided 
by  other  ideas.  In  other  words,  the  term  inductionis,  best 
employed,  as  already  suggested  earlier  in  this  chapter,  for 
those  cases  in  which  the  ideas  we  already  possess  are 
found  insufficient  to  explain  the  phenomenon  in  question, 
and  consequently  dii'ect  us  to  further  observation  of  the 
concrete.  When  we  find  the  reason  or  explanation  among 
the  ideas  which  we  already  possess,  the  process  is  usually 
said  to  be  a  case  of  deduction.  When  we  have  to  search 
for  new  ideas,  it  may  be  called  induction.  But  in  both 
cases  the  reasoning  process  is  the  same ;  it  involves  an 
understanding  of  the  concrete  in  the  light  of  the  abs- 
tract. 

The  error,  then,  of  the  ordinary  loose  views  of  "  induc- 
tion" is  that  they  often  omit  to  emphasise  the  essential 
characteristic — the  reasoning.  They  fail  to  note  that  the 
observation  or  experiment  leading  to  the  new  system  of 
ideas  must  be  determined  by,  or  be  part  of,  a  larger  process 
— the  effort  to  fill  up  gaps  in  a  system  already  existing, 
i.e.  the  desire  for  a  complete  explanation.  When  observa- 
tion or  experiment  is  undertaken  by  a  child  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  his  teacher,  and  merely  leads  to  a  conceptual 
summary  of  the  concrete  cases  dealt  with,  we  ought  not 
to  speak  of  "  inference "  or  "  induction,"  but  merely  of 
concejMon.  It  is  only  in  so  far  as  the  observation  or 
experiment  is  really  a  stage  in  the  solution  of  a  wider 
problem  that  we  can  call  it  a  part  of  an  inductive  inquiry. 
This  is  eminently    the  case   when   the  boys    themselves 

FUNU.  PSY.  13 


194  IDEATION. REASONING. 

suggest  and  carry  out  the  observation  or  experiment.  We 
get  inductive  inquiry,  therefore,  in  the  most  real  sense, 
vrhen  the  method  of  Heurism  is  adopted. 

Some  educationists  would  like  to  see  all  observation  in 
school  of  this  character.  But  if  we  are  to  profit  by  the 
results  of  the  investigations  of  countless  generations,  it  is 
clear  that  we  must  often  choose  methods  of  framing 
ideational  systems  in  the  minds  of  the  boys  which  do  not 
correspond  to  the  long-drawn-out  struggles  of  the  many 
intelligent  individuals  who  have  collectively  obtained  those 
systems.  Sometimes,  therefore,  we  content  ourselves  with 
merely  giving  the  net  result  s  of  much  previous  human  inquiry. 
In  other  words,  we  tell.  Now  in  doing  this,  we  use  words. 
And  if  our  telling  is  to  be  successful,  each  of  these  words 
must  already  have  a  meaning  in  the  minds  of  the  boys. 

We  cannot  communicate  individnal  simple  ideas.  All 
these  mtist  be  obtained  through  conceptual  processes  hy 
the  boys  themselves.  There  is  no  alternative,  except  in  the 
case  of  new  arrangements  or  new  systems  of  old  ideas.  In 
such  instances  we  have  the  choice  between  requiidng  the 
new  system  to  be  discovered  by  investigation  in  the  concrete, 
or  telling  it.  In  the  latter  case,  the  boys  revive  their  old 
ideas  and  rearrange  them  into  the  new  system  under  the 
guidance  of  our  words.  We  adopt  this  course  when  the 
investigation  is  far  too  big  a  process  to  admit  of  even  a 
feeble  imitation  of  it  in  school. 

Thus,  in  the  lesson  on  the  expansion  of  metals,  it  is 
very  doubtful  whether  the  boys  could  ever  undertake  the 
whole  inductive  inqiiiry  which  has  at  length  secured  a 
tolerably  satisfactory  ideational  ground  for  the  general 
law.  They  can,  however,  be  led  to  appreciate  in  some 
degree  the  nature  of  that  inquiry.  If  they  proceed  with 
their  study  of  matter,  they  may  later  be  led  to  understand 
that  matter  is  composed  of  molecules,  held  together  by  a 
force  which  we  name  cohesion.  They  may  also  learn  that 
heat  is  another  foi'ce  which  acts  in  opposition  to  cohesion. 
They  will  now  be  able  to  see  a  reason  for  this  expansion 
of  metals,  and  indeed  of  other  solids.  The  final  result 
can  be  expressed,  once  again  in  syllogistic  form,  as 
follows  : — 


IDEATION.— REASONING.  195 

All  overcoming  of  coliesiou  causes  expansion. 
Heat  overcomes  cohesion. 
Therefore  heat  causes  expansion. 

Here  the  middle  term  or  reason  is  the  overcomhitj  of 
cohesion.  And  the  process  of  thought  may  best  be 
indicated  by  the  form — Heat  causes  expansion,  because 
it  overcomes  cohesion. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  reasonimj  in  induction  and  in 
deduction  is  of  the  same  type,  and  can  be  expi'essed  in 
syllogistic  form.  The  chief  ditt'erence  between  the  two  is 
that  in  inductioti  there  are  also  involved  processes  of 
observation  or  experiment  to  complete  the  ideational 
system  which  guarantees  oui'  conclusion.  Archbishop 
Whately  summed  the  matter  up  very  well  when  he 
wi'ote — 

"  Much  has  been  said  by  some  writers  of  the  superiority 
of  the  Inductive  to  the  Syllogistic  method  of  seeking 
truth— as  if  the  two  stood  opposed  to  each  other — and  of 
the  advantage  of  substituting  the  Organon  of  Bacon  for 
that  of  Aristotle,  etc.,  which  indicates  a  total  misconcep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  both.  There  is,  however,  the  more 
excuse  for  the  confusion  of  thought  which  prevails  on  this 
subject,  because  eminent  Logical  writers  have  treated,  or 
at  least  have  appeared  to  treat,  of  Induction  as  a  kind  of 
Argument  distinct  from  the  Syllogism ;  which  if  it  wei'e, 
it  certainly  might  be  contrasted  Avith  the  Syllogism  :  or 
rather,  the  whole  Syllogistic  theory  would  fall  to  the 
ground,  since  one  of  the  very  first  principles  it  establishes, 
is  that  all  Reasoning,  on  whatever  subject,  is  one  and 
the  same  process,  which  may  be  clearly  exhibited  in  the 
form  of  Syllogisms.  It  is  hardly  to  be  supposed,  there- 
fore, that  this  was  the  deliberate  meaning  of  those  writers; 
though  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  have  countenanced 
the  error  in  question,  by  their  inaccurate  expressions. 

"  This  inaccuracy  seems  chiefly  to  have  arisen  from  a 
vagueness  in  the  use  of  the  word  Induction ;  which  is 
sometimes  employed  to  designate  the  process  of  investiffa- 
Hon  and  of  collecting  facts ;  sometimes  the  deducing  of 
an  infei'ence  from  those  facts.     The  former  of  these  pro- 


196  IDEATION. REASONING. 

cesses  (viz.  that  of  observation  and  experiment)  is 
undoubtedly  distinct  from  that  which  takes  place  in  the 
Syllogism  ;  but  then  it  is  not  a  process  of  argumentation  ; 
the  latter  again  is  an  argumentative  process  ;  but  then  it 
is,  like  all  other  arguments,  capable  of  being  Syllogis- 
tically  expressed.  And  hence  Induction  has  come  to  be 
regarded  as  a  distinct  kind  of  argument  from  the  Syl- 
logism." ^ 

"  Take  another  example.  I  am  sitting  in  a  raih'oad  car, 
waiting  for  the  train  to  start.  It  is  winter,  and  the  stove 
fills  the  car  with  pungent  smoke.  The  brakeman  enters, 
and  my  neighbour  asks  him  to  '  stop  that  stove  smoking.' 
He  replies  that  it  will  stop  entirely  as  soon  as  the  car 
begins  to  move.  '  Why  so  ?  '  asks  the  passenger.  '  It 
always   does,'  replies    the  brakeman."  - 

Now  this  would  be  called  "  induction,"  if  the  vague  use 
of  the  term  already  considered  were  allowed.  It  would, 
indeed,  be  a  more  satisfactory  case^  than  that  dealt  Avith 
in  connection  with  the  observation  of  a  few  metals  expand- 
ing with  heat.  But  it  is  obvious  that  the  brakeman  has 
not  reasoned.  He  has  merely  framed  a  judgment  after 
observation  of  particular  cases.  This  judgment  merely 
arises  from  and  sums  up  his  observations.  It  does  not 
lead  beyond  them.  "But,  if  the  passenger  had  been  an 
acute  reasoner,  he  .  .  .  might  have  anticipated  the  brake- 
man's  reply,  and  spared  his  own  question.  Had  he  singled 
out  of  all  the  numerous  points  involved  in  a  stove's  not 
smoking  the  one  special  point  of  smoke  pouring  freely  out 
of  a  stove-pipe's  mouth,  he  would  probably,  owing  to  the 
few  associations  of  that  idea,  have  been  immediately  re- 
minded of  the  law  that  a  fluid  passes  more  rapidly  out  of 
a  pipe's  mouth  if  another  fluid  beat  the  same  time  stream- 
ing over  that  mouth ;  and  then  the  rapid  draught  of  air 
over  the  stove-pipe's  mouth,  which  is  one  of  the  points 
involved  in  the  car's  motion,  would  immediately  have 
occiirred  to  him. 

"  Thus  a  couple  of  extracted  characters,  with  a  couple  of 

1  Whately,  Elements  of  Logic,  Ninth  Edition,  p.  151.     The  word 
argumentation  is,  of  course,  used  as  equivalent  to  reasoning. 
'^  James,  Principles  of  PsT/ctiology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  342. 


IDEATION. — REASONING.  197 

their  few  and  obvious  connections,  would  have  formed  the 
reasoned  link  in  the  passenger's  mind  between  the  pheno- 
menon, smoke  stopping  and  car  moving,  which  were  only 
linked  as  wholes  in  the  brakeman's  mind."  ^ 

We  may  sum  up  the  reasoning  in  syllogistic  form  as 
follows  : — 

Air  passing  over  top  of  pipe  causes  smoke  to  be  drawn 

out. 
When  car  is  in  motion  air  passes  over  top  of  pipe. 
Therefore  when  car  is  in  motion  smoke  is  drawn  out. 

The  most  important  idea,  then,  is  that  air  passes  over 
the  top  of  the  pipe  (when  the  car  is  in  motion).  And  the 
process  of  reasoning  may  be  best  expressed  by  saying : 
The  smoking  of  the  fire  will  stop  entirely  as  soon  as  the 
car  begins  to  move,  because  then  the  air  passes  over  the  top 
of  the  pipe. 

As  Professor  James  describes  this  instance,  it  is  a  case  of 
dediiction.  For  he  supposes  the  necessary  ideational  system 
to  be  already  in  the  possession  of  the  passenger,  so  that 
the  latter  could  have  solved  the  difficulty  himself,  if  he  had 
only  troubled  himself  to  examine  the  matter  thoroughly. 
But  the  same  difiiculty  might  have  given  rise  to  induction. 
When  "  the  law  that  a  fluid  passes  more  rapidly  out  of 
a  pipe's  mouth  if  another  fluid  be  at  the  same  time  stream- 
ing over  that  mouth  "  is  not  known,  it  is  possible  to  sup- 
pose that  a  person,  being  anxious  to  explain  the  behaviour 
of  the  stove,  or  to  be  sure  that  what  the  brakeman  says  is 
true,  might  by  careful  observation  and  experiment  succeed 
in  discovering  the  law.  Having  now  obtained  the  neces- 
sary ideational  system,  he  is  intlie  same  position  as  James's 
"acute  reasoner."  And  he  could  state  his  argument  in 
the  same  form  (adding,  of  coin-se,  the  details  of  the  obser- 
vations and  experiments  by  which  he  discovered  the  law). 

We  see,  then,  once  again,  that  there  is  only  one  process 
of  reasoning.  If  that  n^asoning  proceeds  entirely  on  the 
basis  of  previous  knowledge,  it  is  called  deduction  ;  if  it 
necessitates  the  discovery  of   new  ideational  systems  to 

^OjJ.  cit.,  pp.  342,  34:i. 


198  IDEATION. — REASONING. 

complete  one's  existing  knowledge,  it  is  called  induction. 
Often  it  hovers  between  the  two.  For  there  are  many 
eases  in  which  it  is  difficult  to  say  how  far  our  examination 
of  the  concrete  has  revived  an  ideational  system  which  we 
already  possessed,  and  how  far  it  has  really  caused  us  to 
discover  that  system. 

It  must  be  remembered  on  the  one  hand  that  our  idea- 
tional systems  tend  to  fade  from  memory,  and  on  the  other 
that  new  cases  of  the  corresponding  concrete  are  more  or 
less  different.  The  effort,  therefore,  to  explain  another 
somewhat  different  case  is  nearly  always  a  kind  of  redis- 
covery.    And  in  this  sense  it  is  inductive  in  character. 

This  view  makes  still  more  clear — what  has  already 
been  said  earlier  in  this  chapter — that  the  using  of  our 
ideational  systems  on  fresh  cases  reacts  upon  conception. 
We  make  our  grasp  of  those  systems  the  better  by  appli- 
cation of  them  to  fresh  and  partially  different  instances. 
The  method  of  conception  which  we  termed  the  method  of 
agreement  is  thus  brought  into  play.  The  one  (abstract) 
"  rolls  out  "  more  and  more  distinctly  from  the  many  (con- 
crete instances).  In  this  lies  the  value  of  all  that  ajyjjlica- 
tion  of  general  principles  which  we  require  after  lessons  in 
which  those  principles  have  been  obtained.  Some  boys,  per- 
haps, do  not  really  grasp  the  ideas  at  all  until  the  stage  of 
application  is  reached.  In  the  very  old  days,  when  what 
is  termed  the  "  Deductive  Method  "  was  employed,  when 
the  principle  or  i-ule  was  always  told  first,  and  then  applied 
to  concrete  cases,  the  ideas  were  still  more  frequently  only 
gi-asped  during  the  application.  There  was  a  sort  of 
"  inductive  "  process  going  on  dm'ing  the  struggle  with 
the  concrete.  While  the  boys  were  supposed  to  be  apply- 
ing the  principle  to  concrete  instances,  they  were  really 
slowly  understanding  that  principle  in  their  efforts  to  deal 
with  those  cases. 

But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  same  thing  occurs  to  some 
extent  even  when  the  necessary  system  of  ideas  is  faii'ly 
well  developed.  All  reasoning  involves  both  the  striking 
of  the  right  system  of  ideas  and  the  further  clarification  of 
those  ideas.  To  this  extent  it  may  always  be  called  induc- 
tive.    We  see,  then,  that  actual  reasoning  is  both  deduc- 


IDEATION. REASONING.  199 

tive  and  inductive.  When  the  necessary  ideational  systems 
are  clearly  defined,  and  can  be  readily  used  to  explain  and 
add  to  the  "concrete"  with  which  we  are  dealing,  we  call 
the  process  deduction.  When  our  ideational  systems  are 
distinctly  inadequate,  and  require  to  be  appreciably 
enriched  by  additional  observation  and  consequent  con- 
ception, we  call  the  process  induction.  Or,  as  Mr.  Bradley 
puts  it,  "  It  is  not  in  principle  alone  that  analysis  and 
synthesis  are  essentially  one,  but  in  practice  also  their 
unity  tends  to  show  itself  in  the  product.  Performing 
one  operation  we  find  that  we  have  also  accomplished  the 
other  ;  and  we  may  err  in  our  estimate  of  the  relative 
importance  and  prominence  of  their  aspects."  ' 

Whately's  reference  to  the  "  Organon  of  Bacon  "  (induc- 
tion) deserves  further  elucidation.  It  is  often  said  that 
the  use  of  induction  instead  of  deduction  (which  latter  was 
during  the  Middle  Ages  employed  abnost  exclusively)  has 
brought  all  the  improvements  of  modern  science.  This  is 
quite  true.  What  has  really  taken  place,  however,  is  not 
that  we  have  changed  our  method  of  reasoning,  but  that 
we  have  ceased  to  confine  our  reasoning  to  the  ideas  for- 
mulated by  Aristotle  and  the  ancients.  It  was  believed 
by  the  scholars  of  the  Middle  Ages  that  all  the  ideational 
systems  of  any  value  had  already  been  obtained  by  the 
ancients.  Consequently  only  deduction  was  possible.  But 
gradually,  as  men  began  to  see  the  impossibility  of  explain- 
ing many  things  with  the  old  ideas,  this  absurd  belief 
decayed.  Active  thinkers  saw  the  need  of  further  investi- 
gation. Reasoning  was  no  longer  confined  to  the  using  of 
the  old  ideas.  It  is,  then,  the  extension  of  reasoning  to 
new  fields,  thus  demanding  more  concej^tion  or  ideation, 
which  characterises  the  new  era. 

Although — for  the  sake  of  clearness  of  thought — we 
have  shown  that,  as  far  as  the  reasoning  is  concerned,  the 
forai  called  indtiction  is  not  a  distinct  type,  it  is  necessary 
to  remind  the  student  once  again  that  the  term  "  induction  " 
is  usually  employed  to  cover  all  conception  or  ideation  in 

'  F.  H.  Bradley,  TUh  Principles  of  Lorjic,  p.  435.  Analysis  and 
synthesis  are  here  used  respectively  for  induction  and  deduction. 


200  IDEATION. — EEASONING. 

which  systems  of  ideas  (expressed  by  defiuitious,  or  general 
statements,  or  rules)  are  arrived  at  by  consideration  of  a 
number  of  concrete  instances.  When  he  meets  the  word 
"  induction "  in  educational  books  and  in  examination 
questions  {e.cj.  those  at  the  end  of  this  chapter)  he  must  be 
prepared  to  take  it  in  this  sense.  Such  conceptual  exercises 
should,  however,  only  be  called  induction,  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term,  in  so  far  as  they  form  part  of  a  reason- 
ing process,  i.e.  in  so  far  as  they  are  undertaken  in  the 
attempt  to  explain  something. 

Reasoning  and  creative  imagination  are  the  highest 
types  of  ideal  construction.  They  are  sometimes  classed 
together  under  the  name  of  invention.  Both  involve  some 
end  which  is  held  definitely  in  view.  Both  require 
ideation  in  the  process  of  reaching  that  end.  But  they 
differ  with  respect  both  to  the  end  and  to  the  ideational 
processes  necessary  to  reach  that  end. 

In  reasoning,  the  end  in  view  is  in  close  touch  with 
reality.  In  practical  affairs  it  is,  indeed,  some  definite  con- 
crete result  which  is  to  be  actually  attained.  And  even  in 
science,  the  general  propositions  which  we  reach  are  not 
obtained  merely  for  the  delight  of  contemplating  them. 
They  are  aspects  of  reality,  and  their  purpose  is  to  give  us 
a  greater  control  over  the  real  world.  The  end  of  reasoning 
is  of  direct  utility  in  the  conduct  of  life.  In  creative 
imagination,  the  end  in  view  is  rather  an  aesthetic  enjoy- 
ment.  The  poet  and  the  romancer  aspire  to  paint  a  world 
which  might  be. 

The  pi'ocess  of  reasoning  is  essentially  conceptual. 
Images  may  occur  and  may  help  to  giaide  that  process 
We  have  seen  that  the  great  man  of  science  must  be 
imaginative.  Nevertheless,  it  is  to  the  purely  ideational 
aspect  of  his  thoughts  that  he  must  give  most  attention.  His 
progress  towards  his  end  must  be  through  an  inevitable 
chain  of  ideas.  In  creative  imagination  there  is  still  the 
control  of  ideas,  but  the  images  must  be  considered  to 
count  for  much  more,  especially  when  it  is  remembered 
that  the  final  result  is  a  complex  of  imagery. 


IDEATION. REASONING.  201 

Questions  on  Chapter  IX. 

1.  What  method  would  you  adopt  for  the  more  effective  training 
of  reasoning  in  school  ?  Show  how  you  would  vary  your  methods 
according  to  the  ages  of  the  pupils. 

2.  Show  how  the  inductive  method  of  reasoning  may  be  employed 
in  lessons  on  familiar  natural  phenomena,  e.g.  the  seasons,  snow, 
dew. 

3.  Distinguish  between  inductive  and  deductive  reasoning,  and 
illustrate  the  place  of  each  in  school  work. 

4.  In  what  does  training  to  reason  consist  ?  Compare  the  reason- 
ing powers  of  children  at  the  ages  of  five,  ten,  fifteen. 

5.  What  is  meant  by  the  "inductive  method  "  in  teaching,  and  to 
what  extent  is  it  analogous  to  the  process  of  scientific  discovery  ? 

6.  Finding  that  a  class  is  weak  at  problems,  though  good  in 
ordinary  calculation,  what  steps  would  you  take  to  remove  the 
weakness  ? 

7.  All  reasoning  involves  ideation,  but  all  ideation  is  not  reason- 
ing. Give  a  definition  of  reasoning  whicli  harmonises  with  this 
statement,  and  illustrate  it  by  examples. 

8.  Show  how  reasoning  can  be  exercised  in  connecti<jn  witli  wood 
work. 


CHAPTER    X. 


Memory. 


We  have  had  to  refer  to  memory  many  times  already. 
The  chapter  on  Imagination,  for  instance,  assumed  it 
throughout.  Imagination  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  cliief 
products  of  memory.  And  ideation,  which  usually  accom- 
panies both  images  and  percepts,  is  no  less  dependent 
upon  it.  We  must  proceed,  therefore,  to  examine  more 
closely  the  whole  machinery  of  memory,  and  how  that 
machinery  functions. 

Used  in  its  widest  sense,  the  word  memory  signifies  an 
attribute  which  is  necessary  to  the  mind  at  all  times. 
Every  mental  process,  whether  it  is  afterwards  specifically 
recalled  or  not,  leaves  some  trace.)  The  nervous  tissue 
which  is  excited  at  the  time  of  its  occurrence  is  to  some 
extent  modified.  And  when  it  is  re-excited,  the  manner  of 
that  excitation  will  be  somewhat  diiferent  because  of  the 
former  experience ;  and  if  this  is  so,  the  mental  con- 
comitant of  the  excitation  will  also  be  modified.  Probably 
a  great  amount  of  sub-conscious  learning  goes  on  in  this 
way,  without  any  definite  recall  of  the  past  experiences  to 
which  that  learning  is  due.  We  can  gradually  become 
familiar  with  a  room,  so  that  we  move  about  in  it  more 
readily,  without  any  definite  attention  to  this  or  that 
peculiarity  of  it. 

Perception,  as  we  have  seen,  owes  much  to  this  sub- 
conscious accumulation  of  traces  of  past  experience.  And. 
though  many  of  the  higher  processes  of  mind  require 
definite  revival  of  portions  of  past  experience,  they  also 
depend  ultimately  upon  the  same  general  conservative 
tendency.     Indeed,  no  single  mental  process  can  proceed 

202 


MEMOEY.  203 

without  this  attribute.  For  if  at  any  given  instant  of 
such  a  process  the  traces  of  the  immediately  preceding 
instants  could  be  completely  obliterated,  we  should  have 
to  begin  our  effort  of  comprehension  or  adjustment  to  the 
"new"  situation  over  again.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive 
what  a  mental  process  could  be  without  this  retention  of 
the  "  just  past." 

We  may  su.m  vip  all  this  by  speaking  of  the  plasticity 
and  retentiveness  of  the  mind.  Lloyd  Morgan  uses  the 
term  primary  retention  with  the  same  meaning.^  But  the 
word  memory  is  usually  specialised  to  refer  to  those  cases  in 
which  this  power  of  retentiveness  gives  rise  to  the  definite 
revival  of  some  portion  of  past  experience,  in  the  form  of 
ideas  and  images.  Thus,  a  person  would  not  as  a  rule  say 
that  he  remembers  how  to  walk,  or  that  he  remembers 
that  a  cei'tain  yellow  spherical  thing  (an  orange)  will 
give  certain  tactual  sensations  when  grasped.  But  he 
would  say  that  he  remembers  a  certain  delightful  walk 
which  he  took  on  a  given  day,  or  a  particular  orange  which 
was  specially  good. 

Now  with  simple  retentiveness,  which  is  the  basis  of  all 
memory,  the  teacher  can  do  little  or  nothing.  It  is  a 
fact  which  he  must  accept.  It  varies  from  one  individual 
to  another,  and  in  the  same  individual  at  different  times. 
It  depends  on  the  state  and  qviality  of  the  nervous  tissue. 
Health  probably  affects  it.  But  that  is  not  the  teacher's 
chief  concern,  though  it  should  certainly  obtain  much 
consideration  from  him.  Probably  retentiveness  is  gi'eater 
in  the  morning,  when  the  nerve  tissue  is  fresh,  than  in  the 
evening,  when  it  is  more  or  less  exhausted.  This,  too, 
should  be  allowed  for  by  tlie  teacher.  But  given  a  certain 
state  of  health,  a  particular  time  of  day,  and  all  the  avail- 
able attention  of  the  class,  the  teacher  cannot  do  anything 
to  improve  the  retentiveness  of  his  pupils.  That  will 
always  act  in  a  fixed  way. 

This,  however,  does  not  mean  tliat  the  teacher  cannot 
improve  the  memory  of  his  pupils  for  certain  things. 
Given   a  fixed  degree  of  brute  retentiveness  much  depends 

'  I'syrhodxi!/  for  T'cickers,  New  Edition,  p.  (iO, 


204  MEMOBT. 

on  the  use  made  of  it.  And  for  this  the  teacher  is  largely 
responsible.  The  use  made  of  it  in  school  is  largely  in 
connection  with  specific  things  which  are  taught,  and 
which  have  to  be  definitely  remembered.  Consequently, 
though  we  must  never  lose  sight  of  the  general  factor 
called  ret«ntiveness,  on  which  all  the  rest  depends,  we  as 
teachers  are  particularly  interested  in  memory  as  the 
power  of  reviving  definite  portions  of  past  experience. 

In  connection  with  these  ordinai-y  cases,  which  are  usually 
referred  to  under  the  name  of  memory,  there  are  three 
distinct  phases/-(l)  a  certain  experience,  (2)  an  interval 
during  which  the  experience  is  no  longer  thought  of,  (3)  a 
more  or  less  complete  revival  of  the  original  kind  of 
experience,  or  of  some  element  of  it,  or  of  some  modified 
form  of  it.  / 

This  is  what  can  be  gleaned  from  the  mental  side. 
From  this  point  of  view,  the  interval  between  the  expe- 
rience and  its  revival  contains  nothing  connected  with 
the  experience.  It  is  filled  with  other  mental  states  or 
experiences.  Those  psychologists  who  have  tried  to  treat 
of  mental  states  without  reference  to  nervous  processes, 
and  who  have  endeavoured  to  get  a  certain  completeness 
in  the  mental  world  independent  of  the  physiological 
processes  of  the  nervous  system,  have  found  a  great  diffi- 
culty in  connection  with  this  intermediate  period.  They 
have  usually  recognised  that  if  the  experience  can  be 
revived,  in  whole  or  in  part,  it  must  have  left  some  traces. 
And  they  have  tried  to  find  some  mental  traces.  Intro- 
spection, however,  can  discover  few — in  many  cases,  none 
at  all.  These  psychologists,  therefore,  have  often  been 
led  to  suppose  a  sub-conscious  region  into  which  our 
experiences  sink,  and  in  which  they  continue  to  live  an 
attenuated  existence  until  the  time  when  they  are  recalled 
to  more  complete  life.  Now  while  some  of  our  experiences 
do  continue  to  reverberate  for  some  time  in  a  sub-conscious 
way,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  they  sink  a  little  lower 
and  continue  permanently.  It  is  still  more  difficult  to 
believe  that  all  our  multitudinous  experiences  also  con- 
tinue in  this  way. 

The  best  explanation  which  can  be  given  of  the  fact  of 


MEMORY.  205 

retentiveness  is  by  reference  to  the  nervous  system.  Those 
parts  of  the  brain  which  are  excited  during  a  given 
experience  are  permanently  altered.  They  retain,  then, 
some  traces  of  the  excitation.  These  traces  tend  to  fade. 
But  if,  before  they  have  disappeared,  nervous  impulses 
run  to  the  same  part  of  the  brain,  a  re-excitation  occurs 
which  is  more  or  less  similar  to  the  original  one,  and 
which  is  consequently  accompanied  by  a  more  or  less 
similar  mental  state. 

In  retention,  then,  it  may  be  said  the  brain  plays  a 
role  somewhat  like  that  of  the  wax  record  of  a  phono- 
graph. When  certain  sounds  are  produced,  the  Avax  which 
is  in  rotation  receives  certain  impressions.  The  record 
may  be  put  away  for  a  period,  and  then  replaced  upon  the 
cylinder  of  the  phonograph  and  caused  to  rotate  as  it  did 
on  the  original  occasion.  Similar  sounds  are  reproduced. 
In  this  analogy  the  sounds  stand  for  mental  processes,  the 
rotation  of  the  cylinder  on  the  second  occasion  stands  for 
a  re-excitation  of  the  same  brain  cells.  The  analogy,  of 
course,  must  not  be  carried  too  far.  For  instance,  if  the 
record  is  carefully  preserved,  it  can  reproduce  the  sounds 
as  clearly  as  ever,  even  after  a  long  interval.  But  the 
traces  left  in  the  brain  are  continually  fading. 

The  important  thing  for  the  teacher  is  to  know  how  it 
is  that  re-excitation  takes  place.  We  have  already  seen, 
in  dealing  with  after-images,  that  nervous  excitations  tend 
to  persist  a  little  time  after  the  conditions  giving  rise  to 
them  have  ceased.  Neurones  which  are  in  a  state  of 
activity  seem  to  be  able  to  drain  energy  from  other  cells, 
and  to  monopolise  it  for  a  time.  Further,  the  paths  so 
established  seem  to  become  more  pervious,  so  that  energy 
tends  on  future  occasions  to  find  its  way  along  the  same 
tracts  to  the  same  cells.  When,  therefore,  neurones  have 
been  very  intensely  excited,  there  is  a  tendency,  not  only 
for  the  excitation  to  continue  a  few  moments  afterwards, 
but  for  the  energy  of  many  other  portions  of  the  brain  to 
be  drafted  to  them,  and  to  set  them  in  excitation  again. 

Thus  any  very  striking  experience  appears  to  recur 
many  times  spontaneously.  If  a  tune  has  "  caught  on  " 
with  us,  we  find  it  continually  springing  up  in  our  minds. 


206  MEMORY. 

If  we  have  seeu  a  man  run  over,  the  terrible  experience 
tends  to  be  revived  in  imagery  again  and  again.  This 
tendency  is  known  as  perseveration.  It  may  be  considered 
to  exist  in  all  cases.  In  other  words,  it  is  the  same  kind 
of  thing  as  retentiveness.  But  it  is  sufficiently  strong  to 
produce  spontaneous  revival  only  in  the  case  of  very  vivid 
and  intense  experiences,  and  especially  during  the  time 
immediately  following  them.  And  it  is,  consequently, 
only  in  such  cases  that  the  word  perseveration  is  usually 
employed.  We  shall,  however,  use  the  term  in  its  widest 
application  in  what  follows. 

But  we  get  revivals  of  many  things  which  Avere  not 
exceedingly  striking  on  their  original  occvirrence.  Per- 
severation is  the  chief  factor  only  in  the  revival  of  a  few 
very  striking  things.  The  great  majority  of  our  revivals 
are  due  also  to  the  fact  that  experiences  which  occur 
together  become  connected  together  in  our  minds  by  the 
act  of  attention,  so  that  when  one  occvirs  again,  either  as 
actual  experience,  or  itself  as  a  revival,  it  tends  to  revive 
the  others.  This  connection  is  usually  referred  to  as 
association.  We  have  already  noted  the  neui*al  basis  of 
this  in  dealing  with  the  complication  of  sensations  by  the 
traces  of  previous  sensations.  When  two  sets  of  cells  are 
excited  together,  or  in  close  succession,  paths  are  rendered 
pervious  between  them,  so  that  if  one  centre  is  excited 
again,  the  other  is  likely  to  be  excited  also,  though  usually 
not  with  such  great  intensity  or  completeness. 

There  is  doubtless  a  close  connection  between  persevera- 
tion and  association.  They  are  probably  two  parts  of 
one  comprehensive  process.  Every  case  of  revival  is  due 
both  to  perseveration  and  to  association.  The  difference 
between  the  various  cases  is  that  in  some  perseveration 
seems  to  be  the  chief  reason  for  revival,  in  others  associa- 
tion. But  even  the  most  striking  cases  of  spontaneous 
revival  probably  depend  on  a  system  of  nervous  paths 
having  been  made  pervious.  As  Professor  Carveth  Read 
says,  "  we  must  also  admit  that  ideas  may  be  aroused  as 
the  effects  of  remote  stimuli  of  whose  operation  we 
have  no  present  consciousness,  and,  therefore,  we  need  not 
regard  spontaneous  ideas  as  exceptions  to  the  principle  of 


MEMORY.  207' 

association."  ^  The  great  excitation  Avhich  must  have 
occurred  in  the  first  place  has  drained  energy  from  various 
sources,  creating  many  paths  whereby  re-excitation  of  the 
original  part  is  likely  to  take  place.  For  during  waking 
life  all  the  neurones  of  the  brain  are  partially  charged  with 
free  energy,  and  some  of  this  can  be  drained  from  them 
imder  exceptional  circumstances.  In  cases  where  associa- 
tion seems  to  be  the  only  factor  leading  to  revival,  we  may 
suppose  that  the  experience  revived  was  on  its  original 
occurrence  not  sufficiently  intense  to  involve  a  great  ex- 
citation, draining  energy  from  many  surrounding  parts. 
If  it  had  occurred — with  the  same  intensity — -in  comparative 
isolation,  it  wovild  have  succeeded  in  draining  little  if  any 
nervous  energy  from  other  parts.  No  paths  would  have 
been  formed.  And  it  could  never  be  repeated,  except  by 
a  repetition  of  the  same  external  conditions. 

Thus  I  am  told  the  name  of  a  person,  but  fail  to  I'ecall  it 
even  when  I  see  the  person  again  shortly  afterwards.  I 
am  able  to  get  the  name  again  only  by  being  told  it 
again.  But  if  I  had  attended  to  the  person  and  to  the 
name,  either  together  or  in  close  succession — to  the  name, 
for  instance,  immediately  after  the  person — there  would 
be  much  more  chance  of  my  recalling  the  name  on  seeing 
the  person,  even  although  the  amount  of  attention  both  to 
the  person  and  to  the  name  is  no  more  in  this  case  than  it 
ivas  in  the  former.  I  may  not  have  attended  sufiiciently 
to  the  name  to  cause  any  great  drainage  of  energy  from 
other  parts  of  the  brain,  more  or  less  imperfectly  con- 
nected with  the  centres  involved  in  cognising  the  name, 
but  one  of  those  other  parts  (that  concerned  with  cognising 
the  person)  had  just  been  excited,  and  its  excitation  (in- 
volving attention)  was  only  just  dying  down  when  tlie  new 
excitation  (thatconcerned  with  cognising  the  name)  began. 
Energy  is  therefore  drained  from  the  excited  centre  which 
is  just  dying  down  to  that  which  is  beginning  to  be 
excited.  The  conscious  aspect  of  this  is  the  passage  of 
attention  from  one  thing  (the  person)  to  the  other  (the 
name). 

'  Article  on  "Relations  in  Thought,"  British  Journal  of  Psycho- 
logy, Vol.  IV.,  p.  353. 


208  MEMORY. 

We  see,  theu,  that  if  a  centre  cannot  be  so  intensely 
excited  as  to  drain  many  paths  for  itself,  it  will  stand 
a  chance  of  being  re-excited  from  within  the  brain  only 
if  it  has  been  able  to  drain  one  or  more  centres  which 
are  already  in  dying  excitation  at  the  time  of  its  own 
excitation.  That  is  to  say,  in  normal  cases  a  definite  path 
must  be  constructed  by  the  passage  of  attention  from  one 
thing  to  another.  If,  later,  the  centre  first  excited  is  re- 
excited,  either  from  without  or  from  within,  energy  flows 
more  or  less  readily  along  the  path  already  made,  causing 
re-excitation  of  the  other  centre.  The  latter  attracts  to 
itself  the  discharge  from  the  former.  The  mental  state 
accompanying  the  excitation  of  the  first  centre  seems  to 
call  up  the  mental  state  accompanying  that  of  the  second. 
We  may  speak  of  the  matter  in  this  way  so  long  as  we 
understand  that  tL3  real  explanation  must  be  sought  in 
the  nervous  processes. 

Sometimes  we  get  a  combination  of  the  two  extreme 
cases  described,  i.e.  a  thing  which  is  liable  to  be  revived 
fairly  frequently  on  account  chiefly  of  persevei'ation,  and 
also,  at  other  times,  on  account  chiefly  of  definite  associa- 
tions which  have  been  formed,  is  revived  all  the  more 
frequently  and  readily  by  the  combined  action  of  both. 
Thus,  if  I  have  made  a  striking  mistake  in  dealing  with  a 
person  named  Jones,  I  may  find  myself  from  time  to  time 
worried  by  the  spontaneous  remembrance  of  my  foolishness. 
But  if  the  name  Jones  happens  to  come  under  my  notice 
frequently,  I  am  likely  to  have  still  more  reminders  of  my 

The  process  of  association  with  which  we  have  been 
^V  dealing  is  sometimes  called  a.ssociation  hy  contiguity.  One 
thing  (present)  suggests  another  (absent)  because  the 
two  have  been  contiguous  in  past  expei'ience,  and  have 
therefore  been  associated.  Some  psychologists  speak 
of  other  kinds  of  association — especially  of  association  by 
X  similarity.  But  on  close  examination  we  find  that  all  cases 
depend  ultimately  on  contiguity.  All  suggestion  of  things 
not  present  is  due  to  a  process  of  redintegration ;  things 
found  or  put  together  in  past  experience  tend  to  call  one 
another  up. 


MEMORY.  209 

Let  us  take  an  example  of  association  hy  similarity.  The 
sight  of  a  man  with  a  bald  head  and  a  long  white  beard 
leads  me  to  think  of  mv  grandfather.  But  I  have  never 
seen  the  txvo  men  together,  or,  indeed,  thotight  of  them 
together.  My  grandfather  died  many  years  ago,  and  this 
is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  this  other  old  man.  The 
supporters  of  association  by  similarity  as  a  distinct  kind  of 
association  maintain,  therefore,  that  in  such  cases  there 
must  be  another  and  totally  different  kind  of  link — the 
link  of  similarity. 

But,  looking  more  closely  into  such  a  case,  we  find  that 
there  is  still  redintegration  based  on  links  of  contiguity. 
The  bald  head  and  long  white  beard  stir  in  me  the  same 
"  feelings  "  which  I  had  formerly  when  I  looked  on  my 
grandfather.  But  these  "  feelings  "  were  connected  with 
other  attributes  of  my  grandfather.  These  other  attributes 
are  now  aroused  to  complete  the  old  picture,  and  I  find 
myself  thinking  of  my  grandfather  instead  of  the  present 
old  man. 

But  this  other  old  man  is  still  present,  and  coming  back 
to  him  I  recognise  that  he  is  the  cause  of  my  thinking  of 
my  grandfather.  I  may  go  on  to  say  :  "  That  old  man  is 
very  much  like  my  grandfather,"  and  I  may  enumerate 
the  points  of  likeness  between  them.  It  seems  to  me  now 
that  similarity  is  the  only  link. 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  a  case  recognised  by  all 
psychologists  as  due  to  association  by  contiguity.  The 
ringing  of  a  bell  at  the  seaside  makes  me  think  of  my 
school  in  the  busy  town.  This  is  obviously  because  the 
two  kinds  of  experience  have  occurred  together  in  the 
past.  But  this  bell  that  I  now  hear  is  not  the  same  bell 
that  I  heard  formeidy.  It  is  similar  to  that  bell.  We 
see,  then,  that  even  the  suggestion  recognised  by  all  as  due 
to  association  by  contiguity  is  dependent  also  on  similarity. 
There  must  be  similarity  between  the  present  object  and 
an  old  one  with  which  the  thing  suggested  has  been  as- 
sociated. So  great  is  the  similarity,  indeed,  that  we  often 
consider  the  present  object  as  identical  with  the  old  one. 

We  see,  therefore,  that  not  only  do  the  cases  cited  as 
distinct  instances  of  "  association  by  similarity  "  rest  also 

FUND.  PSY.  14 


210  MEMORY. 

upon  contiguity,  but  that  the  very  thing  (similarity)  which 
is  supposed  to  distinguish  tliem  from  instances  of  associa- 
tion by  contiguity  is  necessaiy  also  to  the  latter.  As 
Lloyd  Morgan  says,  "  I  think  it  may  be  said  that  all 
association  is  by  contiguity,  and  that  all  suggestion  is  by 
similars,  for  we  never  have  the  same  presentation  twice, 
though  it  may  on  the  second  occasion  be  another  presenta- 
tion from  what  we  call  the  same  source."  ' 

Expressing  the  matter  schematically,  we  may  say  that 
whenever  A  (present  to  the  mind)  suggests  B,  similarity 
and  contiguity  are  both  involved.  In  the  case  of  the  bell 
calling  up  school,  there  is  similarity  between  this  bell  and 
another  bell  which  was  contiguous  in  past  experience  to 
school.  Here  the  similarity  is  so  complete  that  it  is 
ignored,  and  the  example  is  labelled  contiguity.  In  the 
case  of  the  old  man  calling  up  my  grandfather,  there  is 
similarity  between  certain  parts  of  this  old  man  (bald 
head  and  long  beard)  and  certain  parts  of  my  grandfather, 
and  there  is  obvious  contiguity  between  these  parts  or 
qualities  of  my  grandfather  and  the  rest  of  him.  Here 
the  contiguity  is  generally  ignored,  and  the  example  is 
labelled  similarity. 

Or  we  may  express  the  matter  diagrammatically.  Let 
the  triangles  A    and  B  represent  the  thing  suggesting  and 


v_y 


Fig.  17. 

(A'  is  a  fonner  case  of  A  which  has 
occurred  ^vith  B.) 

the  thing  suggested  respectively,  let  the  shaded  portions 
indicate  similarity  (which  is  for  all  practical  purposes 
identity),  and  let  the  parts  connected  by  the  semi-circles 
represent  the  parts  associated  by  contiguity.    Then  Fig.  17 

1  Psycholoyy  for  Teachers,  p.  80, 


MEMORY.  211 

represents  the  cases  usually  labelled  "  contiguity,"  and 
Fig.  18  those  usually  cited  under  "  similarity." 

It  should  be  noted  that  in  cases  of  the  latter  type 
("similarity"),  when  once  B  has  been  suggested  by  A,  there 
is  usually  an  oscillation  of  attention  between  the  two  as 
wholes.  In  other  words,  these  eases  often  become  cases  also 
of  the  former  ("  contiguity  ")  type.  When  the  old  man  has 
suggested  my  grandfather  (by  "  similarity  "),  my  attention 
may  now  pass  from  one  to  the  other  and  they  are  now 
also  connected  by  "  contiguity,"  i.e.  in  the  same  way  as 
they  would  be  associated  if  I  merely  saw  the  two  men 
together,  or  thought  of  them  together,  without  any  possi- 
bility whatever  of  noticing  likeness  between  them. 

We  see,  then,  that  there  is  after  all  some  justification 
in  distinguishing  the  two  types.  In  "  contiguity  "  cases, 
the  siiuilarity  is  so  great  that  it  can  take  care  of  itself,  but 
the  contiguity  in  the  mind  must  have  been  definitely 
established  by  previous  associations.  In  "  similarity  " 
cases,  the  important  thing  is  whether  the  points  of  simi- 
larity will  stand  out  or  not :  and  it  is  contiguity  that  can 
here  take  care  of  itself,  for  it  is  not  a  more  or  less  artificial 
association  of  two  elements,  but  the  close  connection  of 
parts  in  one  whole. 

These  latter  cases  involve  some  analysis  of  the  suggesting 
thing.  They  require  more  intellujence,  Avhereas  the  others 
depend  more  on  mere  memory,  i.e.  on  association.  This 
is  strikingly  shown  as  development  proceeds.  "  As  the 
mental  life  grows  richer  and  more  complex,  more  subtle 
relationships  are  disclosed  in  a  more  decisively  intellectual 
comparison.  In  the  eai'ly  stages  of  experience  suggestion 
by  similars  is  dependent  upon  mere  superficial  resemblance. 
In  later  stages  there  is  a  suggestion  by  similarity  in  more 
deep-seated  characters."  ^ 

Having  now  recognised  the  distinction  between  these  two 
types,  we  must  again  insist  that  they  are  not  different 
types  of  association.  There  is  only  on(!  kind  of  association 
— by  contiguity.  And  similarity  is  necessary  in  all  cases 
in  order  that  the  links  formed  by  contiguity  may  be  utilised 

'  Lloyd  Morgan,  07).  cit. ,  p.  82. 


212  MEMORY. 

for  recall.  Some  cases  of  suggestion,  indeed,  may  be 
explained  as  instances  of  either  type,  according  as  we 
emphasise  similarity  or  contiguity.^  Thus  the  bell  remind- 
ing me  of  school  has  already  been  explained  as  a  case  of 
"contiguity."  But  it  may  equally  well  be  brought  under 
"  similarity."  Suppose  that  I  am  eating  my  breakfast 
when  the  l3ell  starts  ringing,  and  suppose  also  that  I  live 
near  the  school  in  town,  so  that  I  have  often  been  in  a 
similar  situation  in  the  morning.  I  may  say  that  the 
present  situation  recalls  the  past  because  of  the  similarity 
between  them. 

All  those  parts  of  school  work  which  are  concerned  with 
memory  depend  to  a  large  extent  on  the  processes  which 
we  have  sketched.  The  teacher  wishes  the  pupils  to 
remember  a  great  many  things.  He  wi.shes  them  to  be 
able  to  revive  many  of  the  facts  and,  in  some  cases,  the 
forms  of  words  which  have  been  told  to  them.  He  must 
concern  himself  therefore  v>'ith  two  conditions- — (1)  with 
making  impressions  as  striking  as  possible,  and  (2)  with 
getting  the  things  connected  together  by  passages  of  atten- 
tion from  one  to  another.  These  two  conditions  are  not 
entirely  independent  of  each  other.  A  striking  impression 
is  one  which  secures  and  holds  a  large  share  of  attention, 
and  if  one  striking  impi'ession  succeeds  or  accompanies 
another,  there  is  likely  to  be  a  passage  of  attention  from 
one  to  the  other.  The  whole  problem,  then,  of  ensuring  a 
good  memory  is  largely  one  of  securing  cei'tain  directions 
of  the  attention.  That,  at  any  rate,  is  all  that  the  teacher 
can  do.  The  rest  must  be  left  to  the  neiwous  system  of 
the  child.  This,  of  course,  varies  from  child  to  child.  Our 
labours  produce  good  fruit  on  some  soils,  and  indifferent 
results  on  others. 

With  respect  to  the  first  of  the  two  conditions,  it  is 
obvious  that  most  of  the  impressions  of  school  are  not 
sufficiently  striking  to  ensure  spontaneous  revival.  But 
do  we  want  this  ?  Do  we  not  rather  want  the  boy  to  be 
able  to  revive  certain  things  when  required  ?  Now  when 
they  are  required,  there  is  usually  something  present  which 

^  Usually  one  or  the  other  is  the  mere  prominent.  But  we  do 
not  always  know  which  it  is, 


MEMORY.  213 

has  formerly  been  couuected  witli  them.  We  shall  fiud, 
imleed,  that  most  of  our  knowledge  consists  of  elements 
couuected  together  in  such  a  way  that  one  single  part  is 
of  no  use  without  the  other,  and  that  the  need  for  one  part 
does  not  arise  unless  some  other  part  is  already  given. 
Thus  the  knowledge  that  4  X  7  =:  28  involves  a  number  of 
elements  connected  together.  There  is  no  advantage  in  the 
whole  of  this  or  a  part  of  it  occurring  spontaneously.  It 
is  only  of  value  in  cases  where  a  part  is  already  given  and 
the  rest  is  required.  Thus  I  may  want  to  know  the  factors 
of  28,  or  the  product  of  4x7,  or  the  number  of  times  7  is 
contained  in  28.  Even  an  examination  question  consists 
of  certain  things  which  are  given.  Something  mvist  be 
stated  in  the  question.  And  the  examinee  is  asked  to 
produce  certain  things  which  should  be  associated  in  his 
mind  with  this. 

Memory  work  is  largely  an  affair  of  forming  associations 
between  things.  Still,  as  already  noted,  this  is  not  uncon- 
nected with  the  stamping  in  of  the  sepai'ate  things :  per- 
severation and  association  work  together.  Thus,  if  I 
attend  to  /I  and  then  pass  swiftly  to  B  before  A  has  left 
my  mind,  the  connection  or  association  will  be  stronger 
when  A  and  B  each  makes  a  vivid  impression  than  when 
they  make  only  feeble  impressions.  AVe  may  even  speak 
of  the  perseveration  of  the  association,  and  say  that  it  is 
strong  when  the  terms  connected  are  strongly  impressed, 
provided  of  course  that  they  are  connected  by  an  act  of 
attention.  I£  they  [ire  strongly  impressed  in  isolation 
one  from  the  other,  the  association  will  not  be  made. 

Now  the  impressiveness  of  an  experience  does  not 
merely  depend  on  the  intensity  of  the  stimulus,  but  also  ou 
the  way  in  which  the  mind  receives  it.  For  instance,  the 
figures  attached  to  the  names  of  various  first-class  bats- 
men to  indicate  their  aggregate  runs  for  the  season  are 
little  different  from  the  figures  attach(;d  to  the  names  of 
the  Kings  of  England  to  indicate  the  years  in  which  they 
commenced  to  reign.  But  the  former  may  make  a  lasting 
impression  on  a  boy's  mind,  while  the  latter  may  fail  to 
create  any  appreciable  effect.  The  teacher  cannot  always 
ensure  that  what  he  presents  is   received   with   avidity. 


214  MEMOET. 

He  can,  however,  do  much  by  the  way  he  presents  it  and 
the  circumstances  which  he  arranges.  He  can  often  do 
much  to  create  an  interest  in  the  things  which  he  desires 
the  boys  to  learn.  Still,  he  can  seldom  arrange  matters 
so  well  that  one  presentation  of  two  or  more  things  will 
lead  to  a  firm  association.  There  must  be  sufficient 
repetition  to  fix  the  association  firmly  in  the  mind. 
Kepetition  makes  up  for  lack  of  impressiveness,  and  it  is 
needless  to  add  that  it  has  to  be  frequently  resorted  to, 
especially  in  cases  in  which  a  large  number  of  associations 
are  involved,  as  in  learning  a  table  or  a  piece  of  poetry. 

Since  repetition  is  a  necessary  evil,  it  behoves  the  teacher 
to  consider  the  most  efficient  form  of  it,  i.e.  the  way  of 
arranging  the  leai'ning  which  gives  the  best  results  with 
the  least  number  of  repetitions.  Many  experiments  have 
been  performed  with  a  view  to  determine  the  best  method 
of  attacking  a  series  of  presentations  which  it  is  desired 
to  revive  in  the  same  order.  It  is  impossible  to  give 
details  here  of  the  experiments  themselves.  We  can  only 
take  note  of  their  results. 

In  dealing  with  such  matters  as  a  piece  of  poetry  which 
is  of  moderate  length  and  which  is  fairly  well  t;nderstood, 
so  that  it  presents  no  special  difficulties,  it  is  better  to 
repeat  the  whole  from  beginning  to  end  rather  than  to 
learn  a  portion  at  a  time.  When  small  parts  are  learned 
by  separate  efforts,  it  becomes  very  difficult  to  knit  them 
together  in  the  right  order. 

But  if  the  matter  to  be  attacked  is  unfamiliar,  or  very 
long,  or  if  it  presents  many  internal  difficulties,  it  is  best 
to  attack  it  in  portions.  We  have  to  master  these  por- 
tions first,  and  then  attempt  to  string  them  together  in 
the  right  order. 

It  is  better  to  spread  repetitions  over  many  days  than 
to  concentrate  them  all  on  one  day,  or  even  on  several  days. 
Thus,  three  days  with  eight  repetitions  each  would  produce 
a  better  effect  than  twenty-four  repetitions  on  one  day. 
Six  days  with  four  repetitions  on  each  would  be  better 
still.  And  two  repetitions  on  each  of  twelve  successive 
days  would  be  best  of  all.  Of  course  we  cannot  always 
arrange  school  work  to  suit  all  requirements.     The  diffi- 


MEMORY.  215 

culties  of  framing  time-tables  are  already  very  great. 
Still,  much  can  be  done  by  enthusiastic  teachers.  Thus, 
if  two  hours  a  week  can  be  given  to  a  subject  like 
French,  which  involves  much  luemory  work,  it  would  be 
better  to  arrange  for  foui*  half-hours  on  four  separate 
days  than  for  two  hour-lessons  on  two  different  days. 
Often,  too,  it  is  possible  to  have  several  pieces  of  memory 
work  in  hand  at  the  same  time,  instead  of  requiring  the 
thorough  mastery  of  one  before  going  on  to  another.  "  Sup- 
pose three  pieces  of  verse  or  chapters  of  facts  are  to  be 
learned.     Let  the  plan  of  work  be  as  follows  : — 


„  2nd  „ 

„  3rd  „ 

„  2nd  „ 

„  3rd  „ 
„  1st 

„  3rd  „ 
„  1st 

„  2nd  „ 

and  so  on,  till  they  are  acquired.  Such  or  similar  pro- 
cedure is  suitable  for  any  kind  of  memory  work,  whether 
it  be  verses,  spelling,  geography,  dates,  or  any  other 
mainly  associative  groups  of  facts.  With  this  plan  of 
"Work,  however,  one  must  remember  that  it  is  not  good  to 
try  to  recall  between  days.  Nor,  if  teaching  by  distributed 
repetitions,  should  pupils  be  tested  until  one  feels  sure 
that  the  most  of  them  Avill  recall  correctly.  Then  those 
with  better  memor}'  should  be  tested  first.  Their  correct 
answers  will  serve  as  extra  repetitions  for  those  whose 
memories  ai'e  less  nimble  and  tenacious."  ^ 

It  is,  then,  bad  to  begin  testing  too  early,  before  the 
associations  are  fairly  well  fixed.  For,  if  a  mistake  is 
made,  it  is  not  merely  a  failure,  it  involves  the  fixing  of  a 
wrong  association,  which  may  require  much  labour  to 
eradicate.  We  should  try  to  keep  everything  right, 
especially   in   the   early   stages,  when  the  groundwork   is 

'  H.  J.  Watt,  The  Econotny  and  Truiuiii;/  of  Memory,  \>p.  59,  00, 


±irst  Day 

2  ( 

)r  6  repet 

Followed  by 

2 

„  3 

>) 

2 

„  3 

Second  Day 

2 

„  3 

Followed  by 

2 

„  3 

^, 

2 

„  3 

Third  Day        ... 

2 

„  3 

Followed  by 

2 

„  3 

)> 

2 

„  3 

216  MEMORY. 

being  laid.  The  early  impressions  seem  to  produce  the 
most  lasting  effects.  The  first  repetition,  for  instance, 
contributes  more  towards  the  formation  of  associations 
than  any  succeeding  single  repetition.  It  is  extremely 
important,  therefore,  that  no  mistakes  should  occur  at  the 
beginning. 

This  caution  is  not,  however,  sufficiently  observed  by 
teachers.  In  teaching  spelling,  for  instance,  many 
teachers  set  dictation  in  which  a  large  niimber  of  children 
make  mistakes.  Now  tests  in  dictation  must  be  given 
from  time  to  time.  The  headmaster  must  know  what 
the  class  is  capable  of.  And  he  sets  a  test  to  "  extend  " 
even  the  most  advanced.  It  necessarily  follows  that  the 
less  advanced  make  mistakes.  But  this  necessary  evil 
shoiild  occur  only  two  or  three  times  throughout  the  year. 
Dictation  as  an  exercise,  as  a  means  of  fixing  spelling, 
should  not  involve  mistakes.  When  it  does,  it  leads  to 
the  further  fixing  of  wrong  associations  between  letters. 
Even  though  the  right  ones  are  given  later,  and  repeated 
again  and  again,  the  early  errors  leave  their  traces.  And 
the  dull  boy  may  remain  confused  between  the  right  and  the 
wrong  for  a  long  time.  The  dictation  which  often  occurs 
several  times  each  w^eek  should  be  considered  as  a  means 
of  fui'ther  fixing  by  repetition  under  new  circtun stances — 
the  circumstances  of  tvriting,  which  are  the  only  ones 
where  correct  spelling  becomes  necessary — ivliat  is  already 
fairly  well  Tcnown.  The  stupid  teacher  might  object  that, 
if  every  boy  gets  all  his  dictation  right,  nothing  has  been 
accomplished,  since  the  boys  evidently  knew  all  the  words 
beforehand.  But  he  would  be  forgetting  that  the  spelling 
of  these  words  has  been  more  firmly  fixed.  Without  such 
an  exercise,  many  of  the  duller  boys  would  in  a  few  days 
forget  some  of  the  spellings  with  which,  it  is  true,  they 
are  tolerably  familiar  before  the  dictation  takes  place. 

Another  caution,  very  intimately  connected  with  the 
preceding,  is  that  the  teacher  should  avoid  placarding 
wrong  forms  on  the  blackboard.  When  a  mistake  is 
discovered,  let  the  right  form  be  substituted  and  impressed 
as  swiftly  as  possible. 

When  a  fair  amount  of  repetition  has  been  done,  there 


MEMORY.  217 

should  be  a  pause.  Any  mental  activity  superveuing  is 
injurious  to  the  associations  wliieli  have  already  been 
partially  or  wholly  formed.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
add  that  work  done  when  the  mind  is  fresh  leaves  more 
lasting  effects  than  that  which  is  done  in  a  state  of 
fatigue.  The  morning  is  in  most  cases  the  best  time  for 
memorising. 

It  is  well  known  that  poetry  is  usually  easier  to  learn 
than  prose.  The  chief  help  here,  besides  such  minor  aids 
as  those  of  alliteration  and  rhyme,  is  rhythm.  Work  of  all 
kinds  proceeds  more  effectively  when  some  rhythm  can  be 
introduced  into  it.  And  where  the  object  is  merely  that 
of  memorising,  the  teacher  should  encourage  the  children 
to  fall  into  a  "  swing." 

The  principle  of  association  whose  applications  we  have 
been  considering  is  often  referred  to  as  the  association  of 
ideas.  It  is  obvious  that  the  word  ideas  is  here  used  in  a 
very  wide  sense.  For  such  things  as  mere  soimds  can  be 
associated  without  any  meaning  being  attached  to  them. 
A  great  many  of  the  experiments  on  memory  to  which 
reference  has  been  made  were  performed  with  nonsense 
syllables,  i.e.  with  syllables  artificially  constructed  with 
the  idea  of  avoiding  any  help  from  previous  knowledge. 
Syllables  like  moj,  imm,  hep,  gid,  are  examples  of  such 
material. 

It  is  obvious,  however,  that  associations  can  also  be 
forged  between  veritable  ideas  or  concepts.  We  have 
already  given  an  example.  The  combination  4  x  7  =  28 
involves,  besides  the  mere  words  or  sounds  correspond- 
ing to  the  figures,  several  ideas  wliich  may  be  linked 
together  by  repetition.  The  ideas  in  this  case  are  of 
number.  But  other  ideas  can  also  be  associated.  Thus 
I  may  hear,  understand,  and  try  to  remember  the  state- 
ment :  A  tall  black  man  tvas  sittituj  on  an  old  wooden  seat. 
It  would  of  course  be  possible  to  associate  these  words 
together  as  mere  sounds.  A  foreigner  who  does  not 
understand  English  might  repeat  them  until  he  is  able  to 
recall  them  in  the  proper  order.  It  is  probable  that  little 
children  often  repeat  words  in  this  way.  Thus  the  young 
child  who  was  found   to  be  saying    "  Surely    (jood   Mrs. 


218  MEMORY. 

Murphy  shall  foUow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life  "  could 
hardly  have  had  any  satisfactory  ideas  corresponding  to 
the  sentence. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  many  children  in  the  past  began 
such  things  as  multiplication  tables  in  similar  fashion. 
Some  teachers  rarely  made  any  effort — by  demonstration 
with  actual  objects — to  ensure  that  the  children  really 
grasped  the  ideas  corresponding  to  the  words.  They  made 
the  common  mistake  of  assuming  that  the  words  necessarily 
carry  their  meaning  with  them.  And  they  were  annoyed 
at  what  they  chose  to  call  the  "  stupidity  "  of  the  children. 
The  latter  were  slow  in  learning  the  comparatively  mean- 
ingless jumble  of  sovinds,  and  still  less  apt  at  using  the 
table  thus  acquired. 

When  both  the  words  and  their  meanings  or  ideas  are 
attended  to  in  repetition,  we  have  two  series  of  associa- 
tions intimately  connected.  And  it  is  obvious  that  each 
forms  a  support  to  the  other.  Not  only  the  bare  meanings 
but  images  of  the  things  specified  are  likely  to  arise. 
These  may  also  be  of  help. 

But  the  meanings  or  ideas  are  of  such  a  nature  that, 
where  they  make  "  sense,"  they  are  not  in  all  cases  mere 
juxtaposed  elements.  To  a  greater  or  less  extent  each 
implies  or  points  to  other  ideas.  And  some  of  these 
implications  exist  in  almost  every  sentence.  Thus  in  the 
sentence  cited  above,  there  is  no  necessary  connection 
between  tall,  black,  and  man,  or  between  old,  wooden,  and 
seat.  We  might  equally  well  have  spoken  of  a  short,  fair 
man,  and  of  a  new,  iron  seat.  But  there  is  some  of  this 
ideational  connection  between  sitting,  on  and  seat,  and 
there  is  a  little,  though  perhaps  much  less,  between  man 
and  sitting.  Sitting  at  any  rate  implies  some  living  being 
performing  the  action.  Many  ideas,  then,  refer  to  quali- 
ties or  relations  abstracted  from  the  concrete.  And  these 
(qualities  or  relations  point  to  other  qualities  or  relations 
or  things.  When,  therefore,  we  have  some  ideas,  others 
are  more  or  less  definitely  implied  by  them. 

Now  when  the  matter  to  be  learned  is  replete  with  ideas 
which  imply  one  another,  we  have  a  set  of  connections  of 
a  different  kind  from  those  due  to  mere  proximity.     The 


MEMORY.  219 

kind  of  connection  we  liave  previously  studied  was  associa- 
tion by  mere  co7itiguity.  But  this  further  kind  of  connec- 
tion consists  of  tliouglit-links}  There  are  always  many  of 
these  links  present,  both  in  prose  and  poetry.  And  the 
work  of  learning  is  immensely  aided  thereby.  The 
reader  has  only  to  reai'range  the  words  of  a  piece  of  prose 
or  poetr}'  into  a  meaningless  series  to  realise  what  a 
gigantic  task  it  would  be  if  the  connections  could  only  be 
forged  through  the  simple  form  of  association  by  con- 
tiguity, as  we  have  described  it. 

All  intelligent  teachers  appreciate  the  need  of  thought- 
links.  They  realise  that  their  pupils  will  learn  a  piece  by 
heart  with  much  more  readiness  when  they  thoroughly 
understand  it.  As  Professor  James  says,  "  by  making 
the  pupil  skilful  in  the  best  method,  the  teacher  can  both 
interest  him  and  abridge  the  task.  The  best  method  is  of 
course  not  to  '  hammer  in '  the  sentences,  by  mere  re- 
iteration, but  to  analyse  them,  and  think."  - 

To  return  now  to  the  principle  of  association,  it  should 
be  noted  that  there  is  not  only  association  of  ideas,  even  if 
we  take  that  word  in  the  widest  possible  sense,  but  of 
all  kinds  of  processes.  What  Ave  call  liahit  is  based  upon 
the  same  principle.  All  nervous  processes,  whether  in- 
volving thought  or  movement,  which  occur  together  or  in 
close  succession,  tend  to  become  linked  together  by  the 
fonnation  of  more  and  more  pervious  paths.  And  the 
avoidance   of    wrong  associations,  especially  in  the  early 

^  Thought-links  may  be  regarded  as  fixed  and  fundamental  forms 
of  association,  as  connections  wliich  have  been  indelibly  established 
by  reason  of  the  fact  that  they  correspond  to  the  uniformities  (jf 
nature.  Such  tliought-links  need  not  by  any  means  have  been 
forged  during  the  life  of  tlie  individual.  Tliey  have  probably  been 
formed  in  great  measure  during  the  long  course  of  evolution,  tlie 
corresponding  cerebral  development  having  been  inherited.  "  Those 
who  contend  that  knowledge  results  wliolly  from  the  experiences  of 
the  individual,  ignoring  as  they  do  the  mental  evolution  wliich 
accompanies  tiie  autogenous  development  of  tlie  nervous  system,  fall 
into  an  error  as  great  as  if  they  were  to  ascribe  all  bodily  growth 
and  structure  to  exercise,  foi'getting  the  innate  tendency  to  assume 
the  adult  form  "  (Spencer,  Principles  of  Pxycholoriy,  §  207). 

*  James,  Taller  to  Teachrs  on  Pxychohxjij,  \).  1.32. 


220  MEMORY. 

stages,  is  just  as  important  in  the  realm  of  habit  as  in  the 
realm  of  association  of  ideas.  Hence  the  importance  of 
the  recommendation,  "  Never  lose  a  battle."  For  this 
means  the  impressing  of  a  wrong  association.  By  securing 
that  a  given  series  of  actions  is  uniformly  perfonned  in  a 
given  situation,  we  are  developing  nervous  paths  which 
are  likely  to  function  long  after  we  have  given  up  control 
of  the  child.  In  securing  this  uniformity  of  action  under 
given  circumstances,  we  have  often  to  make  use  of  punish- 
ment and  reward  ;  by  punishing  the  child  for  undesirable 
actions  and  rewarding  him  when  he  acts  as  we  wish,  we 
endeavour  to  make  right-doing  habitual. 

But,  it  may  be  pointed  out,  there  are  many  cases  in 
which  children,  after  being  forced  by  teachers  and  parents 
to  acquire  a  number  of  good  habits,  have  broken  out  into 
evil  courses  when  no  longer  under  control.  This  is  a  most 
important  objection.  It  is  quite  true  that  a  habit  once 
formed  does  involve  a  tendency  to  do  certain  things  under 
certain  conditions,  and  it  will  always  act  so  long  as  there 
is  nothing  to  oppose  it.  In  some  cases,  where  the  habit 
has  been  deeply  ingrained,  it  is  an  almost  irrepressible 
tendency.  Witness  the  case  of  the  old  soldier  who, 
at  the  word  "  Attention !  "  uttered  in  the  usual  military 
fashion,  dropped  his  hands  to  liis  sides  and  lost  the  dinner 
he  was  carrying.  But  few  habits  are  so  finnly  fixed. 
And  there  are  other  tendencies  which  may  act  against 
them.  We  have  a  number  of  instinctive  and  innate 
tendencies.  These  develop  and  come  to  maturity  at 
various  times  in  our  lives,  and  together  they  constitute  a 
system  of  forces  which  are  usually  far  more  powerful  than 
those  which  owe  their  stx-ength  merely  to  repetition  of  a 
given  series  of  actions  during  a  certain  limited  period. 

Are  we,  then,  to  become  hopeless  with  respect  to  the 
utility  of  forming  habits  r"  Certainly  not !  Mere  habits 
may  be  weak.  But  few  of  our  habits  need  be  the  result 
of  mere  repetition.  We  can  build  many  habits  upon  the 
basis  of  the  instinctive  and  innate  tendencies.  And  we 
can  often  select  tendencies  which  will  operate  in  maintain- 
ing the  desired  habits  long  after  our  direct  control  is 
removed.       A    boy    may    be    forced    to    be   regular  and 


MEMORY.  221 

punctual  by  feai*  of  punisliment.  We  are  here  appealing 
to  a  natural  tendency  of  the  child.  But  will  it  work  iu 
support  of  the  habit  when  punishment  is  no  longer  certain 
to  supervene  ?  If,  however,  we  can  induce  the  boy  to  be 
regular  and  punctual  by  invoking  his  love  of  approbation, 
his  tendency  to  self-display,  his  desire  to  distinguish  him- 
self and  make  a  good  reputation,  these  tendencies  are  likely 
to  work  in  supporting  the  habit  when  he  is  no  longer 
under  school  regulations.  A  large  part  of  our  business  as 
teachers  or  parents  consists  in  noting  what  instinctive 
tendencies  are  strong,  and  when  they  are  strongest,  and  in 
directing  these  tendencies  into  channels  of  action  which 
we  desire  to  see  established,  and  which  will  soon  become 
habits.  They  will  not  be  mere  habits,  however,  but  will 
be  grafted  on  powerful  tendencies,  which  will  support 
them  in  the  hour  of  trial. 

We  see,  then,  that  these  instinctive  tendencies  bear 
somewhat  the  same  relation  to  mere  habits  as  thought- 
links  bear  to  associations  of  ideas  by  mere  contiguity.  By 
them  the  connections  forged  by  repetition  alone  are 
strengthened  to  an  immeasurable  extent. 

"  In  •  the  formation  of  good  habits,  therefore,  two 
methods  are  possilile ;  both  are  used  to  a  certain  extent  by 
everyone  who  is  responsible  for  children.  In  the  one  case 
we  make  use  of  the  child's  capacity  for  pleasure  and  pain ; 
by  punishing  the  bad  actions  and  rewarding  the  good,  we 
gradually  make  right-doing  hal)itual.  In  the  other  case, 
we  make  use  of  the  child's  natui'al  impulses  in  the  right 
direction ;  by  associating  these  with  the  right  actions,  we 
gi-adually  form  desirable  habits.  Our  judgment  tells  us 
that,  whenever  possible,  the  latter  is  the  better  course  to 
pursue,  tliough,  in  particular  instances,  we  may  occasionally 
have  to  fall  back  on  the  former  method."  ^ 

The  reader  should  now  see  clearly  that  associations  of 
ideas  and  habits  are  formed  by  similar  means.  The 
former,  indeed,  might  be  called  habits  of  thought.  As 
Professor  Pillsbury  puts  it,  "  All  recall  is  dependent 
upon  the  connection  of  ideas,  and  ideas  are  connected  only 

'  Miiniford,  The  Datcn  of  Character,  p.  57. 


22  2  MEMOET. 

as  the  neurones  are  united  through  the  reduced  resistance 
of  the  synapses.  The  association  processes  are  thus  in 
every  particular  similar  to  habits.  They  might  be  called 
habits  of  neurones  in  the  cortex.  The  only  difference 
worth  emphasising  is  that  in  this  case  there  is  no  move- 
ment of  muscles  accompanying  the  activity  of  the  cortical 
cells.  Even  this  difference  is  not  always  px-esent,  for  the 
cortical  cells  whenever  active  tend  to  call  out  movements, 
often  very  slight,  sometimes  nothing  more  than  the  ten- 
dency to  movement." ' 

Professor  Pillsbury  sums  up  the  whole  matter  very  well 
as  follows :  "  As  the  outcome  of  our  discussion,  we  have 
a  picture  of  the  nervous  system  as  a  mass  of  relatively 
independent  amoeba-like  cells  that  are  held  in  a  definite 
position  and  relation  to  one  another  by  a  cage  of  bone. 
At  the  beginning  certain  of  the  neiuones  constitute  a  path 
for  an  impulse  from  sense-organs  to  muscles.  These 
original  paths  are  few  and  make  possible  only  the  most 
essential  activities  for  the  continuance  of  the  life  of  the 
individual.  Additional  paths  of  connection  are  formed  by 
each  activity,  physical  and  mental.  Whenever  any  two 
neurones  chance  to  act  together  a  connection  is  formed 
between  them,  the  original  gap  is  bridged,  and  they  come 
to  form  part  of  a  new  pathway  from  sense-organ  to 
muscle.  Sometimes  the  most  important  of  the  neurones 
that  are  connected  lie  within  the  coi'tex,  and  the  learning 
that  results  is  primarily  learning  of  ideas  rather  than  of 
movements,  but  the  principle  is  the  same  as  before. 
Learning,  whether  of  new  movements  or  of  new  ideas,  is  a 
process  of  making  easier  the  passage  of  an  impulse  from 
neurone  to  neiu'oue  and  is  fundamentally  the  same  every- 
where." ' 

It  may  be  that  even  the  "  original  paths,"  both  those  of 
thought  and  those  of  action,  are  ultimately  due  to  connec- 
tions slowly  formed  during  the  long  course  of  racial 
evolution,  and  handed  down  by  inheritance.  In  other 
words,  both  the  indissoluble  thought-links  and  the 
instinctive  tendencies   have   been   regarded   as   inherited 

^  Pillsbury,  Essentials  of  Psychology,  pp.  58,  59, 
-  Op.  cit, ,  p,  52, 


MEMORY.  223 

associations  by  some  thinkers.     Herbert  Spencer  was  one 
of  these,  and  wi'ote  as  follows  : — 

"  In  brief  the  case  stands  thus :  It  is  agreed  that  all 
psychical  relations,  save  the  absolutely  indissoluble,  are 
determined  by  experiences.  Their  various  strengths  are 
admitted,  other  things  ecjual,  to  be  proportionate  to  the 
multiplication  of  experiences.  It  is  an  unavoidable 
corollary  that   an  affinity  of  experiences  will  produce  a 


Page  223,  line  8,  for  affinity  read  infinity. 

uiisbiuu  ui  iutiuceu  teuueucies  lu  tue  nervous  system,  ix  is 
inferrible  that  all  psychical  relations  whatever,  from  the 
necessary  to  the  fortuitous,  result  from  the  experiences  of 
the  corresponding  external  relations ;  and  are  so  brought 
into  harmony  with  them. 

"  Tluis,  the  experience-hypothesis  furnishes  an  ade- 
cjuate  solution.  The  genesis  of  instinct,  the  development 
of  memory  and  reason  out  of  it,  and  the  consolidation  of 
rational  actions  and  inferences  into  instinctive  ones,  are 
alike  explicable  on  the  single  principle  that  the  cohesion 
between  psychical  states  is  proportionate  to  the  frec^uency 
with  which  the  relation  between  the  answering  external 
phenomena  has  been  repeated  in  experience."  ^ 

To  conclude  this  discussion,  it  may  be  added  that  these 
"  original  paths  "  which  Spencer  thus  attempts  to  explain 
are  probably  not  so  "  few  "  as  Pillsbury  leacls  us  to  sup- 
pose in  the  passage  cjuoted  above.  They  can  only  be  called 
"  few  "  if  we  consicler  the  child  at  birth,  and  neglect  to 
take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  the  brain  grows  and 
develops  to  a  large  extent  automatically,  and  independently 
of  any  specific  kind  of  experience.  "  But,  as  the  case 
stands,  the  gradually  increasing  intelligence  displaye<l 
throughout  childhood  and  youth  is  more  attributable  to 
the  completion  of  the  cerebral  organisation  tlian  to  the 
individual  experiences — a  truth  proved  by  the  fact  that  in 
adult  life  there  is  sometimes  displayed  a  high  endowment 

*  Spencer,  frirwiplea  of  Psychology/,  Chap,  on  "  Reason,"  §  207. 


MEMORY.  223 

associations  by  some  tliinkei's.  Herbert  Spencer  was  one 
of  these,  and  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  In  brief  the  case  stands  tlms :  It  is  agreed  that  all 
psychical  relations,  save  the  absolutely  indissoluble,  are 
determined  by  experiences.  Their  various  strengths  are 
admitted,  other  things  equal,  to  be  proportionate  to  the 
multiplication  of  experiences.  It  is  an  unavoidable 
corollary  that  an  affinity  of  experiences  will  produce  a 
psychical  relation  that  is  indissoluble.  Though  such 
infinity  of  experiences  cannot  be  received  by  a  single 
individual,  yet  it  may  be  received  by  the  succession  of 
individuals  forming  a  race.  And  if  there  is  a  trans- 
mission of  induced  tendencies  in  the  nervous  system,  it  is 
inferrible  that  all  psychical  relations  Avhatever,  from  the 
necessary  to  the  fortuitous,  result  from  the  experiences  of 
the  corresponding  external  relations ;  and  are  so  brought 
into  harmony  with  them. 

"  Thus,  the  experience-hypothesis  furnishes  an  ade- 
quate solution.  The  genesis  of  instinct,  the  development 
of  memory  and  reason  out  of  it,  and  the  consolidation  of 
rational  actions  and  inferences  into  instinctive  ones,  are 
alike  explicable  on  the  single  principle  that  the  cohesion 
between  psychical  states  is  proportionate  to  the  frequency 
with  which  the  relation  between  the  answering  external 
phenomena  has  been  repeated  in  experience."  ' 

To  conclude  this  discussion,  it  may  be  added  that  these 
"  original  paths  "  which  Spencer  thus  attempts  to  explain 
are  probably  not  so  "  few  "  as  Pillsbury  leads  us  to  sup- 
pose in  the  passage  quoted  above.  They  can  only  be  called 
"  few  "  if  we  consider  the  child  at  birth,  and  neglect  to 
take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  the  brain  groAvs  and 
develops  to  a  large  extent  automatically,  and  independently 
of  any  specific  kind  of  experience.  "  But,  as  the  case 
stands,  the  gradually  increasing  intelligence  displayed 
throughout  childhood  and  youth  is  more  attributable  to 
the  completion  of  the  cerebral  organisation  than  to  the 
individual  experiences — a  truth  proved  by  the  fact  that  in 
adult  life  there  is  sometimes  displayed  a  high  endowment 

'  Spencer,  Prmciplea  of  Psycholoyij,  Chap,  on  "  Reason,"  §  207, 


224  MEMOEY. 

of  some  faculty  wliicli,  during  education,  was  never  brought 
into  play.  Doubtless,  experiences  received  by  the  indi- 
vidual furnish  the  concrete  materials  for  all  thought. 
Doubtless,  the  organised  and  semi-organised  arrange- 
ments existing  among  the  cerebral  nerves  can  give  no 
knowledge  until  there  has  been  a  presentation  of  the 
external  relations  to  which  they  correspond.  And  doubt- 
less the  child's  daily  observations  and  reasonings  aid  the 
formation  of  those  involved  nervous  connections  that  are 
in  process  of  spontaneous  evolution ;  just  as  its  daily 
gambols  aid  the  development  of  its  limbs.  But  saying 
this  is  quite  a  different  thing  from  saying  that  its 
intelligence  is  wholly  produced  by  its  experiences.  This  is 
an  utterly  inadmissible  doctrine — a  doctrine  which  makes 
the  presence  of  a  brain  meaningless — a  doctrine  which 
makes  idiotcy  unaccountable."  ' 

In  former  times  there  was  much  talk  about  "  training 
the  memory."  The  memory  was  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of 
mental  organ  playing  a  part  similar  to  that  of  the  arm  or 
leg  in  the  case  of  the  body,  and  it  was  thought  possible  to 
make  it  generally  stronger  by  amj  kind  of  exercise.  One 
of  the  reasons  often  given  for  learning  poeti-y  was  that  it 
strengthened  the  memory,  so  that  other  things,  like  dates 
in  history  or  facts  in  geography,  could  be  memorised  more 
readily. 

Experiments  have  been  performed  in  schools  to  test  this 
contention,  and  it  has  been  found  that  there  is  no  definite 
transfer  of  power  in  the  way  claimed.  And  this  is  in 
harmony  with  our  description  of  the  processes  involved. 
Memory  is  founded  on  associations  and  thought-links 
between  certain  definite  "  ideas."  These  are  formed  more 
readily  and  permanently  by  one  individual  than  by  another, 
and  even  by  the  same  individual  at  certain  times  rather 
than  at  others.  But  this  is  due  to  greater  interest,  to  the 
use  of  associations  and  thought-links  already  formed,  and 
to  inherent  superior  capacity.  None  of  these  reasons 
involves  the  improvement  of  a  separate  entity  which  we 

I  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Chap,  on  "  Reason,"  §  207. 


MEMORY.  225 

can  call  "  the  faculty  of  memory."  G-reatei'  interest 
involves  greater  attention,  so  that  the  ideas  and  their 
connections  are  more  deeply  impressed.  If  ideas  already 
linked  by  associations  and  by  thought  occur  in  the  new 
material  studied,  it  is  clear  that  the  improvement  due  to 
them  must  not  be  put  down  to  a  strengthened  "  faculty." 
And  the  inherent  superior  capacity  to  which  reference  has 
been  made  is  probably  due  to  the  state  of  the  nervous 
tissue.  This  is  largely  a  question  of  health  and  constitu- 
tion, and  cannot  be  improved  by  exercise,  except  in  so  far 
as  this  affects  health  and  general  constitution. 

Apart,  then,  from  those  conditions  which  are  admitted 
by  everyone  to  affect  memory  (general  health,  time  of  day, 
interest  in  the  subject  studied)  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  the 
same  materials  or  processes  are  involved  in  the  new  mate- 
rial that  improvement  is  likely  to  show  itself.  The  learning 
of  poetry,  therefore,  does  not  help  the  learning  of  dates. 
But  in  many  cases  there  are  some  common  elements. 
Thought-links  especially  are  common  to  many  varieties  of 
material.  Consequently,  we  often  find  some  impi-ovement. 
We  no  longer,  however,  learn  poetry  to  improve  the 
memory,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  poetry  itself. 

Similar  remarks  apply  in  the  formation  of  habits.  For 
these,  as  we  have  seen,  are  associations.  A  habit  formed 
in  connection  with  certain  definite  material  is  not  likely  to 
transfer  itself  automatically  to  other  material. 

"  At  the  Montana  State  Normal  CoUege  caref  id  experi- 
ments were  undertaken  to  determine  whether  the  habit  of 
producing  neat  papers  in  arithmetic  will  function  with 
reference  to  neat  written  work  in  other  studies  ;  the  tests 
were  confined  to  the  intermediate  grades.  The  results  are 
almost  startling  in  their  failure  to  show  the  slightest 
improvement  in  language  and  spelling  papers,  although 
the  improvement  in  the  arithmetic  papers  was  noticeable 
from  the  very  first."  ^ 

And  similar  remarks  apply  all  round.  For  all  the 
higher  mental  processes  involve  associations  and  thought- 
links.     What   has  been  called   the  disciplinary  value  of 

'  W.  C.  Bagley,  The  Educative  Process,  p.  208. 

FUND.  PST.  15 


226  MEMORY. 

studies  and  occupations  lias,  therefore,  been  greatly 
exaggerated.  This  idea  that  certain  studies  effect  an  im- 
provement all  round  is  sometimes  called  the  Doctrine  of 
Formal  Training.  It  is  still  largely  adhered  to  in  many 
spheres  of  education.  In  some  secondary  institutions,  for 
instance,  Latin  and  GJ-reek  are  the  chief  subjects  taught. 
And  this,  not  because  they  are  an  aid  to  the  study  of  Eng- 
lish, but  because  they  are  supposed  to  be  the  only  means 
of  developing  a  mind  able  to  deal  with  great  things  {e.g. 
with  high  administrative  work).  Now  it  is  true  that  a 
thorough  study  of  classical  literature  gives  much  insight 
into  the  nature  of  language,  of  the  thoughts  expressed  by 
that  language,  and  of  the  human  beings  whose  doings 
are  chronicled  therein.  And  such  insight  is  necessary  for 
statesmen.  But  it  is  not  true  that  special  "  faculties " 
are  developed  in  connection  with  a  classical  education. 
Nor  is  it  tinae  that  the  insight  necessary  for  managing 
public  affairs  is  only  to  be  obtained  in  connection  with 
the  classics. 

This  fallacy  has  appeared  in  many  forms.  We  may 
refer  to  one  more.  G-rammar  used  to  be  taught  largely 
in  elementary  schools  for  the  reason  that  "it  tends  to 
foster  clearness  and  jnecision  of  thought."  Now,  according 
to  the  views  just  expressed,  it  fosters  clearness  and  pre- 
cision of  thought  in  grammar,  but  not  in  other  subjects, 
except  in  so  far  as  they  involve  the  same  ideas.  Thus 
arithmetic  involves  very  few  of  the  same  ideas,  and  is 
very  little  helped  by  grammar.  But  composition  involves 
a  good  many.  To  write  correctly  at  all  times,  one  must 
have  some  idea  of  subject  and  predicate,  of  case,  of  the 
accord  of  verbs  with  their  subjects,  and  so  on.  But  many 
of  the  details  of  grammar,  such  as  are  required  for  complete 
parsing,  are  not  necessary  for  correct  composition.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  one  is  going  on  to  the  study  of  other 
languages,  many  of  these  further  details  will  be  necessary. 
We  still  teach  some  grammar,  therefore,  but  for  its  utility 
rather  than  for  its  disciplinary  power. 

"  The  one  thing  of  which  a  teacher  can  be  sure  is  the 
particular  information,  the  particular  habits  and  powers, 
the  particular  interests  and  ideals  which  his  trauiiiig  gives 


MEMORY.  227 

directly  ;  he  may  fairly  expect  improvement,  but  less  in 
amount,  in  abilities  closely  like  tliat  trained ;  lie  may  liope 
for  some  in  more  remote  abilities,  but  for  less  and  less 
and  finally  for  none  as  the  ability  has  less  and  less 
kinship  with  the  one  directly  trained." ' 

But  although  we  have  condemned  the  Doctrine  of 
Formal  Training  when  carried  to  excess,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  thei'e  is  still  considerable  truth  in  it. 
Some  subjects  provide  a  training  which  should  have  its 
effects  on  the  whole  of  life.  We  do  not  place  Scripture  or 
Moral  Instruction  on  the  Time  Table  because  of  the  direct 
utility  of  these  "  subjects  "  in  any  limited  sphere.  We 
hope  that  they  will  have  a  broad  general  influence  on  the 
lives  of  our  pupils.  How  is  this  possible  ?  We  have 
already  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  way  in  noting  how 
thought -links  and  conative  tendencies  are  the  great 
supports  of  mere  associations  and  mere  habits  respec- 
tively. 

Now  thought  and  conation  are  not  to  be  considered  as 
completely  separate.  We  have  seen  that  whenever  they 
occur  they  are  aspects  or  elements  of  one  single  mental 
state  or  process.  Though  in  the  more  rudimentary  stages 
of  life  conation  may  be  present  with  little  cognition,  in 
the  more  highly  developed  forms  we  can  never  have  one 
without  the  other.  Thus  in  the  early  stages  of  human 
life  and  throughout  the  whole  of  the  lives  of  the  lower 
animals,  conations  arise  and  run  their  course  with  little 
thought  accompanying  them.  But  in  the  case  of  the 
human  being  development  proceeds  apace.  The  sporadic 
conations  of  early  life  are  gradually  modified  and  directed 
to  definite  ends,  which  the  individual  foresees,  i.e.  of  which 
he  has  ideas.  Further,  there  is  often  a  long  chain  of 
means  of  which  he  is  conscious  beforehand  through  the 
agency  of  other  ideas.  Animals,  for  the  most  part,  drive 
on  blindly  to  ends  of  which  they  have  no  definite  ideas. 
In  man,  conation  becomes  more  and  more  illumined  and 
directed  by  intelligence.  There  gradually  grows  up  a 
more  or  less  clear  consciousness  of  the  meaning  of  the 

'  Thorndike,  The  Principles  of  Ttachiiuj,  p.  242. 


228  MEMORY. 

whole  business  of  life.  We  not  only  push  forward,  but 
we  know  to  some  extent  whither  we  are  tending.  In  other 
words,  we  gradually  develop  what  are  variously  termed, 
though  with  somewhat  differing  meanings,  ideals,  senti- 
ments, or  imrposes.  Looked  at  from  the  conative  side, 
these  are  tendencies  or  impulses  (often  very  multifarious 
and  complex,  and  accompanied  by  other  experiences  which 
we  shall  study  later,  but  which  we  may  sum  up  for  the 
present  imder  the  term  emotional  elements).  Looked  at 
from  the  cognitive  side,  they  are  merely  ideas  of  the  ends 
towards  which  we  are  tending.  They  are  lights  to  make 
clear  the  path  for  the  other  and  more  important  factor — 
conation. 

"  This  factor  may  be  illustrated  by  reference  to  any 
great  achievement.  Peary's  conquest  of  the  Pole,  for 
example,  represents  a  large  unit  of  human  experience 
which,  because  of  its  very  '  bulk,'  so  to  say,  and  because 
of  the  unity  of  purpose  which  bound  together  all  of  its 
elements,  serves  admirably  the  purposes  of  psychological 
study.  Obviously  the  prime  controlling  force  in  Peary's 
achievement  was  the  purpose  that  dominated  it.  It  is  not 
sufficient  to  describe  this  purpose  simply  by  saying  that 
it  was  the  idea  of  reaching  the  Pole.  Thousands  of  men 
might  have  that  idea.  In  Peary,  however,  the  idea  of 
reaching  the  Pole  was  infused  with  a  powerful  emotional 
force  which  made  the  idea  directive  over  his  conduct 
during  the  long  series  of  efforts  and  trials  and  interpolated 
experiences.  The  idea  of  reaching  the  Pole  came  to  be 
for  Peary  an  ideal."  ^ 

We  try,  therefore,  to  awaken  in  the  child  certain 
tendencies ;  and  these,  when  made  definite  by  clear  ideas 
of  theii"  ends,  become  purposes.  If  we  can  awaken  purpose 
in  the  mind  of  the  child,  i.e.  if  we  can  not  only  arouse  the 
ideas  of  certain  ends,  but  strong  conation  towards  them, 
we  have  a  basis  on  Avhich.  both  habits  and  intellectual 
pursuits  can  thrive.  "  To  see  to  it  that  the  ideals  which 
accumulated  himian  experience  has  shown  to  be  worthy, 
and  to  make  for  social  welfare  are  safely  and  effectively 

^  Bagley,  Educational  Values,  p.  55. 


MEMORY.  229 

transmitted  fi-om  generation  to  generation  is  obviously  a 
prime  task  of  education."  ^  These  ideals  are  embodied  in 
literature,  in  the  fine  arts,  in  music,  in  the  forms  of 
religion,  government  and  other  human  institutions.  And 
we  may  continue  to  speak  of  Formal  Training  in  con- 
nection with  the  study  of  such  things,  so  long  as  we 
clearly  recognise  its  limitations.  We  may,  for  instance, 
oppose  the  old  notion  that  the  classics  are  the  great 
means  of  mental  discipline  by  such  statements  as  the 
following : — 

"  Reading  of  the  mother  tongue  learned  and  always 
used  as  a  means  and  not  as  an  end,  done  effectively  and 
as  rapidly  as  is  natural  and  possible,  done  so  as  to  serve 
as  an  effective  discipline,  real  reading,  is  to  increase  rather 
than  to  diminish  in  comparative  importance  among  the 
studies  of  the  school.  It  will  absorb  many  of  the  values 
hitherto  set  mainly  or  exclusively  upon  classical  study, 
and  largely  displacing  the  classics  will  become  our  most 
effective  means  of  growth  in  culture  and  ideals ;  just  as 
we  pursue  the  sciences,  on  the  other  hand,  for  information, 
for  control  of  nature,  and  for  the  peculiar  discipline  which 
they  afford."  " 

With  regard  to  the  experiment  conducted  in  connection 
with  the  Montana  State  Normal  College,  it  may,  then,  be 
suggested  that  if  the  children  had  been  led  to  take  a  pride 
in  their  school,  to  consider  that  all  its  paper-work  was  an 
evidence  of  its  excellence,  and  to  resolve  to  do  their  best 
throughout,  and  if  then  the  teachers  had  reminded  them  of 
their  duty  in  arithmetic  only,  we  should  probably  have 
found  some  improvement  also  in  the  language  and 
spelling  papers.  It  is  to  be  feared,  however,  that  the 
experiment,  as  conducted,  was  only  too  likely  to  work 
against  neatness  in  those  other  subjects.  The  teachers, 
in  their  anxiety  to  say  nothing  on  the  need  of  care  in 
the  language  and  spelling  papers,  would  be  in  danger 
of  leading  the  children  to  think  that  it  did  not  matter. 
The  very  attitude  of  a  teacher  to  his  work,  even  although 

'  Bagley,  oj).  cit.,  p.  GO. 

-  Huey,  The  P><ycholo(j;/  and  Peda(jo(jy  of  Head  in;/,  pp.  .381,  .382. 


230  MEMORY. 

nothing  definite  is  said,  will  influence  the  children  most 
markedly.  ^ 

Further,  if  excessive  care  be  demanded  in  one  subject 
only,  there  may  be  reaction  in  the  opposite  direction 
in  other  subjects.  Later  experiments  by  Ruediger— one 
of  them  in  the  same  Montana  School — seem  to  have 
confirmed  this  criticism  of  the  researches  of  the  State 
Noiinal  College.  "  Ruediger  concludes  from  these  data 
that  neatness  made  conscious  as  an  ideal  or  aim  in  con- 
nection with  one  school  subject  does  function  in  other 
school  subjects."  - 

Reverting  once  again  to  the  great  law  of  association,  it 
should  be  noted  that  whether  we  consider  its  opei'ation  in 
the  intellectual  sj^here  or  in  the  sphere  of  action,  whether 
i.e.  we  consider  "  the  conduct  of  the  understanding  "  or 
that  conduct  which  expresses  itself  in  bodily  movement, 
the  law  of  association  is  merely  a  description  of  machinery 
which  can  only  act  when  the  necessary  motor  power  is  ap- 
plied. This  motor  power  is  known  as  conation.  Associa- 
tion, whether  in  the  realm  of  ideas  or  in  that  of  bodily 
movement,  can  only  determiue  the  direction  of  that  power. 
We  shall  find  that  some  of  it  is  already  imder  direction  at 
the  beginning  of  life,  in  the  form  of  instinctive  or  innate 
tendencies.  And  during  life,  some  determination  of  it  is 
due  to  the  influence  of  pleasure  and  pain.  But  the  asso- 
ciations formed  in  the  course  of  experience  do  much  in  the 
way  of  directing  conation  permanently  into  certain  chan- 
nels. It  is  now  our  business  to  consider  more  carefully 
this  conative  force  apart  from  the  associations  which  guide 
it.  We  shall  consider  it  both  in  its  relation  to  pleasure- 
pain  or  feeling,  aud  in  its  ready-made  form  of  instinctive 
and  innate  tendencies. 

1  In  the  Primer  of  Teaching  Practice  (by  Green  and  Birche- 
nough)  are  photographs  of  the  writing  of  a  certain  boy  on  two 
successive  days.  On  the  first  he  had  his  regular  teacher  ;  on  the 
second,  a  "supply,"  who,  although  a  good  disciplinarian,  was  not 
keen  on  the  work.  He  certainly  did  not  tell  the  boys  that  it  did 
not  matter.  Yet  his  attitude  was  enough.  The  second  page  is 
scarcely  recognisable  as  the  work  of  the  same  boy. 

-  Bagley,  Educational   Values,  p.  192. 


MEMORY.  231 

Questions  on  Chapter  X. 

1.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  perseveration.  To  what  extent  can 
it  be  relied  upon  by  itself  to  ensure  reproduction  of  things  learned 
in  school  ? 

2.  What  do  j'ou  understand  by  the  association  of  ideas  1  Show 
how  it  works  m  securing  repi-oduction. 

3.  Why  is  it  important  to  secure  a  passage  of  attention  from  one 
idea  to  another  if  the  two  are  to  be  connected  ? 

4.  What  other  links  are  there  between  ideas  beside  those  due  to 
association  by  contiguitj'  ?  Illustrate  the  importance  of  these  other 
links  by  reference  to  the  learning  by  heart  of  a  piece  of  poetry. 

5.  Ripitez  sans  cesse.  Is  this  recommendation  to  be  blindly  fol- 
lowed in  school  ?     Give  reasons  for  your  answer. 

6.  Why  is  it  important  to  avoid  mistakes  in  the  early  repetitions 
of  something  which  is  being  learned  ?  Illustrate  by  reference  (a)  to 
the  teaching  of  spelling,  and  {b)  to  the  formation  of  habits. 

7.  What  reason  can  you  give  for  a  habit  breaking  down,  even 
when  it  has  been  fairly  firmly  fixed  by  repetition  ? 

8.  "Habit  is  second  nature."  What  proviso  is  necessary  before 
this  statement  can  be  accepted  ? 

9.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  Doctrine  of  Formal  Training  ? 
Criticise  it. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


Conation  and  Feeling. 

In  outlining  mental  states  considered  as  cognitions,  we 
have  as  far  as  possible  endeavoured,  for  the  sake  of 
simplicity,  to  avoid  reference  to  their  other  aspects — those 
of  conation  and  feeling.  Our  point  of  view  has  been 
similar  to  that  of  a  man  who  considers  material  objects 
with  respect  to  only  one  of  their  quaUties.  One  might, 
for  instance,  describe  the  various  things  around  him  with 
respect  only  to  their  shape,  neglecting  for  the  time  being 
their  colour  and  their  weight.  But  a  complete  account  of 
such  things  w^ould  require  some  reference  to  these  other 
qualities.  So  with  mental  states.  We  have  considered 
cognition  first  because  it  is  the  most  obvious  aspect,  and 
the  one  which  has  been  most  fully  treated  by  psycholo- 
gists. But  it  must  not  on  that  account  be  considered  the 
most  fundamental.  Many  psychologists  maintain  that 
conation  deserves  this  distinction.  Cognition,  they  would 
say,  only  arises  and  develops  in  the  service  of  conation. 
We  acquire  knowledge  in,  for,  and  because  of,  our  tendency 
to  push  on.  All  the  cognitive  states  which  we  have 
outlined  are  not  mere  states,  but  2^'>'ocesses  ;  they  could 
never  exist  without  that  continual  reaching  forward  which 
we  call  conation,  and  their  only  purpose  is  to  guide 
conation.  Percepts  and  ideas  from  this  point  of  view  are 
methods  of  grappling  with  a  given  situation.  They  in- 
volve tendencies  to  go  on  with  our  mental  life  in  certain 
directions.  Or  we  may  say  that  they  consist  of  various 
differentiated  channels  through  which  conation  flows  and 
which   it  has   worn    out   for   itself.     Without    them,    of 

232 


CONATION    AND    FEELING.  233 

course,  conation  would  be  a  poor  thing.  It  would  be 
nothing  but  a  blind  craving.  It  might  be  very  powerful, 
but  it  could  achieve  little,  becaiise  of  its  lack  of  organisa- 
tion. It  would  be  like  the  steam-power  which  has  no 
delicately  constructed  naachineiy  to  set  in  motion.  To 
achieve  great  things  in  industry  we  must  have  both  motor 
power  and  machinery.  One  is  of  no  account  without  the 
other. 

Just  as  the  question  of  producing  motor  power  is  a 
most  important  consideration  for  the  manufacturer,  so  the 
way  in  which  conation  can  be  aroused  is  of  supreme 
importance  in  psychology.  We  must  have  conation.  As 
Professor  James  has  said,  "  A  bad  reaction  is  better  than 
no  reaction  at  all."  ^  Fortunately,  every  normal  human 
being  is  naturally  conative.  A  healthy  body  is  pre- 
disposed to  activity.  We  have  seen  that  bodily  activity 
implies  activity  of  the  nervous  system.  The  muscles  only 
contract  when  they  are  excited  by  efferent  nerves.  And 
the  impulses  brought  by  those  nerves  originate  in  some 
nerve  centres.  These,  it  is  true,  are  excited  by  afferent 
impulses  from  some  part  of  the  body.  And  so  long  as  we 
are  alive  some  parts  of  our  body  are  being  stimulated. 

But  the  resulting  activity,  though  due  to  the  stimidations, 
is  not  produced  by  them.  I  might  tickle  a  piece  of  iron 
for  ever.  But  it  would  never  respond  to  my  efforts. 
The  foundation  of  the  activity  of  the  living  body  is  a  fund 
of  energy  stored  up  in  the  nervous  system,  ever  ready  to 
be  liberated  when  "  touched  off  "  by  some  stimulus.  The 
impulses  produced  take  varying  courses,  depending  on 
the  structure  and  organisation  of  the  nervous  system.  As 
we  have  seen,  all  these  activities  in  the  nervous  system  are 
not  accompanied  by  consciousness.  There  are  many 
reflexes  which  take  place  without  even  so  much  as  sensa- 
tion. Where,  however,  consciousness  arises  we  have  mental 
states  which,  from  the  one  point  of  view,  that  of  their 
distinctive  character,  are  called  cognitions ;  while  from 
another  point  of  view,  that  of  their  character  of  forceful- 
ness,  of  continuance  in  a  certain  direction,  they  are  called 
conations. 

'  Talkn  to  Teachers  on  Pnycholony,  p.  .S9. 


234  Conation  and  feeling. 

Now  the  force  aud  direction  of  the  currents  vary  greatly. 
We  may  suppose  that  eveiy  stimulation  produces  some 
effect.  But  since  there  is  only  a  certain  amount  of  energy 
available  at  any  given  moment,  it  is  clear  that  many 
stimulations  produce  little  effect,  being,  as  it  were, 
crowded  out  by  others  which  secure  control  of  the  greater 
portion  of  the  nervous  energy  of  the  moment.  This  may 
be  expressed  in  psychological  language  by  saying  that 
one  conation  tends  to  inhibit  others.  But  how  is  it  that 
one  conation  becomes  more  powerful?  Sometimes  it  is 
due  to  the  superior  intensity  of  the  stimulation.  Few 
students  sitting  by  a  window  could  avoid  glancing  up  from 
their  books  and  looking  out  when  a  military  band  passes 
in  full  swing  with  drums  beating  and  trumpets  blaring. 
And  the  teacher  would  do  well  to  remember  that  young 
children  are  more  at  the  mercy  of  intense  stimuli  than 
older  people.  It  is  folly  to  chide  a  child  for  looking  away 
from  bis  lesson  when  any  sudden  stimulus  breaks  in  upon 
him.     It  is  a  scolding  of  the  laws  of  nature. 

Now  this  difference  between  the  child  and  the  adult 
suggests  another  reason  why  one  conation  is  stronger  than 
another.  As  experience  progresses,  certain  paths  get 
worn  out  more  definitely  in  the  nervous  system.  In  other 
words,  habits  are  formed.  Excitations  are  more  easily 
propagated  through  the  paths  thus  made  than  through 
others.  Certain  stimuli,  therefore,  quite  apart  from  their 
intensity,  are  specially  favoured.  They  lead  to  definite 
excitations  which  spread  to  the  higher  regions  of  the 
brain,  and  are  accompanied  by  mental  processes  of  a  very 
forceful  and  definite  kind.  The  mother  hears  the  cry  of 
her  child  when  she  is  deaf  to  many  other  sounds  w^hich  are 
far  more  intense.  Now  the  adult  has  many  more  of  these 
channels  of  activity  organised  in  his  nei-vous  system  than 
the  child.  With  him,  mental  processes  begin  and  continue 
often  quite  in  opposition  to  the  stimuli  of  the  moment. 
He  belongs  more  to  himself,  while  the  child  belongs  more 
to  its  environment. 

But  even  the  child  has  many  channels  already  organised. 
If  he  had  not,  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  definite 
response  to  be  made  at  all.     The  baby  on  his  first  entrance 


CONATION    AND    FEELING.  235 

into  the  world  lias  certain  paths  innately  organised,  even 
in  the  higher  i*egions  of  the  brain,  so  that  certain  stimuli 
lead  to  definite  cortical  processes  Avith  corresponding 
conscious  states  (very  rudimentary  it  may  be)  and  conse- 
quent movements  of  his  body.  When  the  teat  is  placed  in 
his  mouth,  he  appears  to  be  pleased,  and  sucks  vigorously. 
If  he  loses  it,  or  if  it  is  prematurely  taken  from  him,  he  is 
displeased,  and  shows  a  strong  tendency  to  recover  it  and 
go  on  as  before. 

Innate  tendencies  which  involve  consciousness  [including 
cognition  (in  the  form  of  perception),  feeling,  and  conation] 
are  usually  called  instincts.  The  baby  begins  life  with  very 
few.  But  many  others  develop  as  the  child  grows. 
These  also  may  be  called  innate.  For  they  do  not  depend 
so  much  on  the  experience  of  the  child  as  on  the  normal 
growth  and  development  of  his  nervous  system.  They  are 
as  much  born  with  the  child  as  his  teeth,  or  the  beard 
which  will  later  on  spring  out  on  his  chin.  Just  as  a  tree 
develops  leaves  and  flowers,  so  the  nervous  system 
develops  various  paths  and  connections  which  owe  their 
oi'igin  to  heredity  rather  than  to  the  kind  of  experience 
which  the  individual  obtains.  It  must,  however,  be 
pointed  out  that  these  paths  are  greatly  modified  by  the 
experience  of  the  child.  Those  which  develop  early  are 
modified  by  subsequent  experience.  And  those  which 
appear  late  find  already  developed  a  system  of  paths  and 
corresponding  mental  tendencies  to  which  they  have  to 
adapt  themselves. 

How,  then,  does  this  modification  of  tendencies  already 
existing  take  place  ?  One  way  is  throrigh  the  agency  of 
pleasure  and  jmin.  We  know  nothing  of  the  physical 
process  in  the  nervous  system  Avhich  accompanies  pleasure 
or  pain.  But  from  time  immemorial  men  have  seen  that 
feeling  is  the  great  agent  in  modifying  instinctive 
tendencies.  The  parent  who  beats  his  child  is  relying  on 
the  influence  of  pain  to  check  some  undesirable  tendency  : 
he  desires,  indeed,  to  produce  thereby  a  tendency  in  the 
opposite  direction — an  aversion.  The  animal  trainer  who 
arranges  that  a  horse  shall  have  a  piece  of  sugar  imme- 
diately after  performing  some  difficult   feat  is  stamping 


236  CONATION    AND    FEELING. 

in  a  certain  tendency  by  means  of  pleasm-e.  "  If  the 
mechanical  activities  in  a  cell,  as  they  increase,  give 
pleasure,  they  seem  to  increase  all  the  more  rapidly  for 
that  fact ;  if  they  give  displeasure,  the  displeasure  seems 
to  damp  the  activities.  The  psychic  side  of  the  pheno- 
menon thus  seems,  somewhat  like  the  applause  or 
hissing  at  a  spectacle,  to  be  an  encouraging  or  adverse 
comment  on  what  the  machinery  brings  forth."  ^ 

As  Stout  says,  "there  is  a  constant  tendency  to 
persist  in  those  movements  and  motor  attitudes  which 
yield  satisfactory  experiences,  and  to  renew  them  when 
similar  conditions  recur  ;  on  the  other  hand,  those  move- 
ments and  attitudes  which  yield  unsatisfactory  experiences 
tend  to  be  discontinued  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence  and 
to  be  suppressed  on  subsequent  similar  occasions.  By  the 
working  of  this  Law  of  Subjective  Selection,  as  it  is 
called,  relatively  blind  and  undirected  activities  become 
gradually  guided  into  definite  tracts,  each  advance  paving 
the  way  for  further  pi'ogress."  - 

Another  name  for  this  law  is  the  Law  of  Hedonic  Selec- 
tion. Let  us  take  a  simple  example  of  its  working,  again 
quoting  from  Professor  Stout.  "  There  is,  to  begin  with, 
a  certain  tendency,  probably  congenital,  to  turn  the  head, 
so  as  to  bring  into  full  view  bright  or  obtrusively  moving 
surfaces,  and  to  stare  at  them.  Let  us  suppose  that  the 
child  is  staring  at  a  bright  window,  and  that  the  nurse 
turns  him  away  from  it.  He  begins  to  cry.  If  the  nurse 
turns  him  towards  the  window  again,  he  ceases  crying  and 
wears  an  appearance  of  contentment.  But  if  he  is  not 
passively  turned  again  so  as  to  face  the  light,  his  dis- 
content will  continue  and  will  manifest  itself  in  restless 
movements  of  the  head,  eyes,  and  body.  Among  these 
movements  one  may  occur  which  restores  the  previous 
pleasant  experience.     Turning  his  head   far    enough   in 

'  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II. ,  p.  -584. 

*  Stout,  Groundwork  of  Psycholo<jy,  pp.  72,  73.  Professor  Stout 
might  possibly  not  agree  that  by  "satisfactory"  and  "unsatis- 
factory "  he  means  the  same  as  pleasant  and  unpleasant  respectivel3^ 
But  that  is  what  we  mean  here,  and  that  seems  to  us  to  be  the  best 
rendering  of  his  statement. 


CONATION    AND    FEELING.  237 

either  direction,  lie  sees  agaiu  the  light  of  the  window. 
When  this  success,  initially  due  to  accident,  has  been 
repeated  a  certain  number  of  times  on  similar  occasions, 
the  required  movements  will  be  made  more  readily,  pre- 
cisely, and  decidedly,  other  movements  being  cut  short  or 
suppressed  altogether."  ^ 

A  careful  examination  of  this  example  will  bring  out 
still  more  clearly  the  way  in  which  feeling  is  related  to 
conation.  We  are  told  that  the  child  "  is  staring  at  a 
bright  window."  He  is  persisting,  then,  in  a  given  direc- 
tion. There  is  thus  conation.  To  what  is  this  due  ?  It 
is  due  partly  to  the  intensity  of  the  stimulus  which  has 
set  up  a  strong  excitation  in  the  nervous  system.  But  it 
is  surely  also  due  to  the  pleasurable  character  of  the 
experience.  Stout  refers  to  it  later  as  "  the  previous 
pleasant  experience."  And  Professor  James  tells  us :  "  The 
infant  notices  the  candle  flame  or  the  window  and  ignores 
the  rest  of  the  room  because  those  objects  give  him  a  vivid 
pleasure."-  Pleasure,  then,  has  the  same  result  as  the 
applause  of  an  audience  has  on  a  performer.  It  intensifies 
the  conation  which  is  already  in  operation.  This  conative 
effect  of  pleasure  is  often  called  a]i])etition. 

But  when  the  child  is  turned  away,  he  begins  to  cry. 
We  can  surely  infer  that  he  is  experiencing  pain.  To  what 
is  this  pain  due  ?  One  might  be  tempted  to  explain  it  by 
the  fact  that  the  duller  prospect  of  other  objects  involves 
a  disappearance  of  pleasure,  which  may  be  considered  as 
somewhat  painful.  This  circumstance  may  account  for 
some  small  portion  of  the  pain.  But  it  certainly  does  not 
account  for  all.  The  chief  reason  for  the  pain  is  in  the 
fact  that  a  conation  in  full  swing  has  been  obstructed. 

Much  of  our  pain  arises  thus.  It  owes  its  existence 
not  to  the  specific  nature  of  the  object  presented,  but  to  the 
fact  that  a  tendency  having  been  excited  has  been  obstruct(?d 
in  its  course.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  much  of  our  pleasure 
owes  its  existence  to  the  fact  that  a  tendency,  having  been 
excited,  finds  suitable  objects  to  deal  with,  and  is  able  to 
continue  its  career.     When  the  baby  is  turned  towards  the 

•Op.  cit.,  pp.  73,  74. 
^Principles  of  Psycholo(jy,  Vol.  II.,  p.  345. 


238  CONATION    AND    FEELING. 

window  again,  he  "  wears  an  appearance  of  contentment." 
This  surely  indicates  pleasure.  Much  of  this  may  be  due 
merely  to  the  fact  that  "  the  previous  pleasant  experience  " 
is  restored.  But  is  there  not  an  additional  amount  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  tendency  has  been  raised  to  a  high  pitch 
by  the  obstruction  and  is  at  length  granted  an  outlet  ? 

We  will  call  such  pleasure-pain,  viz.  that  which  is  pro- 
duced by  the  furtherance  or  the  obsti-uction  of  a  conation 
already  excited,  tendency-derived  feeling.  Professor  Stout 
seems  to  hold  that  all  agreeable  or  disagreeable  feeling  is 
produced  in  this  way.  But  it  would  be  ditficult  to  show 
that  the  pain  of  a  toothache  or  the  pleasure  of  a  warm 
bath  could  be  derived  from  the  fact  that  a  strong  tendency 
was  being  obstructed  or  furthered.  We  seem  to  be  com- 
pelled, in  some  cases  at  any  rate,  to  recognise  other  sources 
of  pleasure-pain.  Some  experiences  appear  to  be  agree- 
able or  disagreeable  in  themselves,  independently  of  any 
pre-existing  tendency.  For  instance,  most  psychologists 
agree  that  sensations  are  agreeable  up  to  a  certain  degree 
of  intensity  (differing  with  each  kind  of  sensation),  but 
painful  beyond  that  point.  If  there  is  any  truth  in  this 
(it  may  not  be  true  in  all  cases,  but  only  in  a  limited 
number)  we  have  instances  of  pleasui-e-pain  which  is  not 
due  to  furthered  or  obstructed  conations.  To  distinguish 
this  pleasure-pain  with  respect  to  its  origin  (though,  of 
course,  it  is  the  same  kind  of  thing  in  itself)  we  may  call 
it  intrinsic  feeling. 

We  need  not  concern  ourselves  much  with  the  question 
whether  Stout  is  right  in  regarding  all  pleasure-pain  as 
"tendency-derived,"  or  whether  the  view  here  maintained 
is  the  correct  one.  But  we  must  recognise  clearly  that 
pleasure  and  pain,  however  produced,  react  strongly  on  the 
conation  in  progress.  We  have  already  noted  the  intensi- 
fying effect  of  pleasure.  It  remains  to  examine  the  effects 
of  pain.  We  are  told  that  if  the  child  is  not  turned  to  face 
the  light,  "  his  discontent  will  continue  and  will  manifest 
itself  in  restless  movements  of  the  hand,  eyes  and  body." 
There  is  obviously  conation  in  great  force  here.  One  might 
attempt  to  account  for  the  whole  of  it  as  the  original  ten- 
dency (to  stare  at  the  bright  window)  which,  having  been 


CONATION    AND    FEELING.  239 

thwarted,  is  now  raised  to  a  high  pitch.  But  part  of  it 
seems  to  be  due  to  the  pain  of  the  obstructed  tendency. 
We  notice  similar  restless  movements  when  the  child  is 
known  to  be  in  pain,  and  when  there  is  no  special  tendency 
being  obstructed,  as,  for  instance,  when  he  is  suffering 
from  wind,  and  is  evidently  trying  to  escape  from  it.  This 
conative  effect  of  pain  is  usually  tenned  aversion. 

Pain,  however,  acts  not  only  by  producing  a  definite 
aversive  tendency,  but  often  also  by  damping  some  other 
tendency  in  the  career  of  which  it  may  occur.  The  instance 
quoted  from  Stout  does  not  show  this.  For  the  pain  does 
not  occur  in  the  career  of  the  tendency  (to  look  at  the 
window),  but  on  account  of  the  obstruction  of  it.  Suppose, 
however,  that  a  child  begins  to  suck  his  thumb.  He  finds 
in  this  some  pleasure,  which  augments  the  conation,  so  that 
it  becomes  fixed  and  invariable.  It  has  now  developed 
into  a  hahit,  i.e.  a  tendency  which  has  become  fixed  by 
repetition  during  the  life  of  the  individual.  His  mother 
wishes  to  break  him  of  this  confirmed  tendency.  One 
way  would  be  to  bind  the  hand  down  so  that  the  child 
cannot  raise  it  to  his  mouth.  Tendencies  and  their  corre- 
sponding neural  paths  often  die  out  through  lack  of 
exercise.  Further,  other  tendencies  and  habits  may  be 
developed  to  such  an  extent  that  the  disused  ones,  even  if 
they  still  retain  some  force,  find  themselves  crowded  out. 

But  the  binding  down  of  a  child's  hand  has  disad- 
vantages. It  prevents  that  free  activity  of  arms  and  hands 
which  is  necessary  in  the  work  of  perception.  It  is 
extremely  unpleasant  to  the  child — far  more  so  than  is 
necessary  to  put  an  end  to  the  habit.  A  better  way  would 
be  to  see  that  some  unpleasant  though  harmless  substance, 
such  as  mustard,  is  smeared  on  the  thumb.  The  tendency 
now,  instead  of  leading  to  pleasure,  runs  into  pain.  And 
it  very  soon  dies  out.  Exactly  how  the  pain  works  in 
producing  this  result  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  might,  of 
course,  still  be  said  that  there  is  an  aversive  tendency. 
But  it  is  an  aversive  tendency  in  just  the  opposite  direction 
to  the  original  tendency,  i.e.  from  instead  of  towards  a 
given  result.  The  original  tendency  would  tlius  be  neutra- 
lised by  the  aversive  one. 


240  CONATION    AND    FEELING. 

Now,  the  most  important  task  of  the  educator — before 
and  beyond  that  of  developing  cognition— is  the  directing 
of  the  child's  conations  into  right  channels.  It  might 
appear,  after  what  has  just  been  said,  that  in  those  cases 
where  the  child's  existing  tendencies  are  in  bad  directions 
— fortunately  many  of  them  are  not — the  best  means  is  to 
arrange  for  them  to  meet  pain.  And,  conversely,  in  those 
cases  where  the  child's  tendencies  are  in  the  direction 
which  we  desire,  but  not  strong  enough,  it  might  appear 
that  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  arrange  for  additional 
pleasure  to  occur  in  connection  with  them.  This  seems  a 
simple  solution  of  the  difficulty.  It  is  the  idea  usually 
supposed  to  underlie  the  practice  of  i*ewards  and  punish- 
ments. 

But  a  very  slight  examination  of  the  problem  will  show 
that  it  is  immeasurably  more  complex.  If  the  existing 
tendencies  were  limited  in  number  and  fairly  fixed  in  their 
directions,  pleasure  and  pain  could  be  used  with  consider- 
able effect.  Such  conditions,  indeed,  exist  to  a  large 
extent  in  the  case  of  the  higher  animals.  And  we  can 
train  them  to  behave  themselves  properly  with  few  other 
means  than  those  of  reward  and  punishment.  (We  can 
hardly  speak  of  educating  them.)  But  the  tendencies  of 
the  human  being  are  not  of  so  simple  or  of  so  limited  a 
kind.  Those  that  already  exist  at  any  given  moment  can 
be  directed  into  many  diiierent  channels,  and  in  connection 
with  our  disciplinary  measui'es  other  tendencies  may  arise 
on  which  we  did  not  calculate. 

The  higher  intelligence  of  the  human  being  enables  him 
to  make  all  kinds  of  distinctions  impossible  to  an  animal. 
And  his  tendencies  are  organised  about  the  objects  he 
distinguishes  in  complex  ways  which  are  different  from 
those  of  the  animal.  With  the  baby,  who  approximates 
to  an  animal,  I  can  indeed  pursue  a  fairly  mechanical 
system  of  rewards  and  punishments.  I  can  arrange  that 
his  tendency  to  suck  his  thumb  is  damped  by  the  pain 
which  occurs  when  mustard  is  placed  upon  it.  He  does 
not  yet  distinguish  the  fact  that  it  is  only  the  mustard 
which  prevents  him  getting  the  usual  pleasure.  The  experi- 
ence is  a  wliole  in  which  he  does  not  discriminate  the  parts. 


CONATION    AND    FEELING,  241 

This  whole  is  painful  and  he  gives  it  up.  But  if  the  habit 
has  remained  fixed  till  a  later  stage,  my  problem  is  much 
more  difficult.  For  the  child  now  sees  clearly  that  the 
pain  produced  is  not  the  result  of  sucking  his  thumb,  hut 
of  the  mustard  ivJiich  is  placed  upon  it.  The  pain  does  not 
occur  in  the  career  of  the  thumb-sucking  tendency,  but 
in  the  mustard-experience.  The  aversive  tendency  evoked, 
therefore,  is  not  from  sucking  the  thumb,  but  from  the 
disagreeable  mustard.  I  may  continue  to  check  him  by 
insisting  on  mustard  being  kept  on  his  thumb.  But  I  am 
not  now  checking  the  tendency  to  suck  the  thumb.  I  am 
merely  preventing  it  finding  an  outlet.  And,  for  a  time 
at  least,  I  may  be  increasing  it  by  the  obstruction.  If  the 
child  could  get  a  few  moments  with  his  thumb  clear  of 
mustard,  he  might  suck  at  it  more  greedily  than  ever. 

Such  measures  of  prevention  as  this  last  can  scarcely  be 
called  punishments.  They  are  artificial  attempts  to  inject 
pain  into  the  ordinary  career  of  a  tendency  with  a  view  to 
check  it.  And  we  have  seen  that  they  often  fail  of 
their  full  object,  the  destruction  of  the  tendency,  because 
they  are  clearly  dilferentiated  from  it  in  the  child's  mind. 
Though  punishment  has  a  similar  object,  it  is  still  further 
from  forming  an  integral  part  of  the  tendency.  For  it 
occurs  after  the  tendency  has  run  through  its  usual  course. 
The  pain  that  it  generates,  therefore,  does  not  damp  the 
tendency  directly,  but  only  indirectly  through  the  fear  of 
punishment  which  is  aroused.  Fear,  as  we  shall  see,  is  an 
emotion  connected  with  the  strong  tendency  aroused  to 
get  away  from  some  object  (in  this  case  the  cause  of  pain 
— the  punishment).  If  punishment  is  tolerably  sure  to 
follow  a  certain  course  of  action,  the  only  way  of  escaping 
the  punishment  is  to  avoid  the  course  of  action.  But  it 
does  not  follow  that  the  tendency  to  that  course  of  action 
is  weakened.  It  is  merely  held  in  check  by  the  aversive 
tendency  connected  with  fear. 

The  object  of  the  educator,  however,  is  not  merely 
to  stop  evil  conations  for  a  time,  but  to  eradicate 
them  from  the  child's  nature,  so  that  when  the  time 
comes  for  the  child  to  be  given  his  freedom,  he  may 
be  able   to   take  the  right   course  from  his  own  choice. 

FUND.  PSY.  16 


242  CONATION    AND    FEELING. 

"  Punishment,  if  effective,  can  only  prevent  the  doing  of 
the  wrong  action,  it  cannot  create  the  right  feeling."  ^ 
There  is,  of  course,  the  chance  that  if  the  evil  tendency  is 
checked  for  a  given  period,  it  may  disappear.  For,  as  we 
have  seen,  tendencies  are  apt  to  die  out  from  disuse.  If, 
however,  they  are  grounded  in  strong  instincts,  these 
instincts  may  only  be  roused  to  greater  intensity  by  mere 
repression.  They  may  constitute  a  sort  of  smouldering 
volcano,  ready  to  break  out  into  eruption  when  the  oppor- 
tunity occurs.  We  have  innumerable  instances  of  young 
people  who  have  been  repressed  by  harsh  discipline  during 
their  school  life,  and  who  break  out  into  evil  courses  when 
they  ai'e  freed  from  control. 

Take  now  a  case  of  reward.  A  young  child  lacks  control 
in  his  excretory  habits.  When  he  shows  some,  he  is  rewarded 
by  a  piece  of  sugar,  or  by  some  other  pleasant  experience. 
This  may  not  at  first  be  definitely  distinguished  from  the 
whole  experience  of  which  it  forms  the  conclusion,  and  the 
pleasure  derived  definitely  fixes  the  tendency  to  clean  habits. 
If  at  a  later  stage  the  same  means  are  employed  to  encourage 
kindness  to  his  sister,  they  are  now  clearly  distinguished 
as  an  end  to  which  the  kindness  is  only  a  means.  It  is, 
then,  the  tendency  for  these  rewards  which  is  being  deve- 
loped, and  various  more  or  less  disliked  activities  will  be 
undertaken  to  obtain  them.  If  the  rewards  are  discon- 
tinued, the  other  activities  which  it  was  intended  to 
encourage  may  cease  also.  There  is,  of  course,  the  possi- 
bility that  these  other  activities  may  have  evoked  some 
instinctive  tendencies,  which  now  support  them.  They 
may  also  have  gained  more  strength  by  reason  of  repeti- 
tion, which  generates  habit. 

It  might  appear  to  some  readers  that  punishment  and 
reward  ought  therefore  to  be  discarded  altogether.  But 
this  is  not  so.  Punishment,  at  any  rate,  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with.  It  is  often  the  only  means  of  stopping  some 
tendency  which  must  be  checked  at  all  costs.  It  must, 
however,  be  considered  as  a  weapon  which  should  only  be 
used  when  other  means  fail. 

What  other  means  are  there  of  modifying  tendencies  ? 
'  Muraford,  The  Dawn  of  Character,  p.  114. 


CONATION    AND    FEELING.  243 

By  the  time  the  oi-diuary  child  comes  to  school  he  has 
developed  a  large  number  of  tendencies.  Some  are  good, 
some  bad.  We  wish  to  exterminate  the  bad  ones,  and 
develop  the  good  ones.  Can  this  be  done  in  any  other 
way  than  by  appealing  to  pleasure  and  pain  ?  The  answer 
is  a  decided  affirmative. 

In  the  first  place,  a  tendency  develops  by  exercise.  If 
we  can  arrange  circumstances  so  that  the  good  tendencies 
are  often  excited  and  appealed  to,  they  will  be  strengthened. 
Thus,  every  boy  likes  to  be  thought  well  of,  i.e.  he  has  a 
tendency  to  do  things  which  evoke  admiration.  If  we 
take  due  notice  of  the  good  things  he  does,  we  strengthen 
this  tendency.  If,  also,  we  begin  by  treating  him  as  a 
person  with  good  tendencies,  he  is  likely  to  endeavour  to 
act  up  to  our  estimation  of  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  tendency  tends  to  die  out  by  lack 
of  exercise.  If  we  can  avoid  the  circumstances  which 
excite  a  certain  tendency  we  are  giving  it  a  chance  to  dis- 
appear. Thus,  a  boy  may  be  given  to  envy.  If  we  can 
avoid  placing  him  in  positions  where  he  is  continually 
being  overshadowed  and  supplanted  by  others,  we  are 
giving  him  a  chance  to  rid  himself  of  this  bad  quality. 

We  have  seen  how  by  modifying  the  environment  we 
can  do  much  to  call  out  or  repress  certain  tendencies. 
There  is  yet  another  way  in  which  the  nature  of  the 
environment  has  its  effect  on  tendencies.  We  have 
already  noted  that  in  so  far  as  a  tendency  is  fixed  by 
individual  experience  it  is  called  a  habit.  We  have  seen 
that  any  course  of  action  or  thought  which  is  unfailingly 
repeated  under  certain  circvunstances  genei'ates  some  sort 
of  habit.  The  firmest  habits,  however,  are  those  which 
are  generated  out  of,  or  on  the  basis  of,  some  innate 
tendency.  These,  of  course,  might  be  called  modified 
instincts.  But  it  is  iisual  to  call  them  habits.  And  it 
cannot  be  too  often  noted  that  they  are  the  most  powerful 
habits.  They  are  not  merely  "  second  nature  "  (as  habit  has 
been  called),  but  they  contain  a  basis  of  "  first  "  nature. 

Now  any  instinct  wliicli  is  neither  good  nor  bad  in 
itself  may,  according  to  ihe  material  or  environment  by 
which  it  is  excited,  or  on  which  it  is  allowed  to  work,  be 


244  CONATION    AND    FEELING. 

modified  to  form  a  powerful  habit  of  a  good  or  of  a  bad 
kind.  Thus  the  instinct  of  acquisition  is  possessed  in 
some  degree  by  most  children.  If  it  is  directed  to  the 
collection  of  specimens,  pictures  and  stamps,  it  may  form 
a  valuable  series  of  habits  which  increase  the  child's 
interest  in  various  subjects  of  the  curriculum,  and  thus 
materially  aid  the  intellectual  side  of  his  education.  It 
may  be  utilised,  too,  in  the  care  of  school  property. 

The  children  may  be  led  to  regard  their  room  and  its 
apparatus  as  their  own,  and  thus  become  keen  on  keeping 
everything  at  its  best.  Particular  reading-books  may  be 
given — at  any  rate  for  the  time  being — to  individual 
pupils,  and  tlae  names  of  the  pupils  stuck  on  by  means 
of  labels.  Each  pupil  will  thus  be  induced  to  take 
a  pride  in  his  set  of  books.  In  these  cases,  another 
instinct — that  of  self-assertion  or  self-display — is  pro- 
bably also  called  into  play.  But  the  instinct  of  acquisition, 
or,  as  it  is  often  called,  the  sense  of  ow'nership,  is  still  a 
dominant  feature.  It  may  also  be  evoked  ivith  moderation 
in  connection  with  money,  the  child  being  induced  to  begin 
to  save  small  sums  (though  not  all  his  coppers)  and  thus 
to  fonn  a  habit  of  thrift.  But  if  it  is  concentrated  almost 
entirely  upon  money  and  other  valuables,  the  child  being 
encouraged  to  hoard  up  every  penny  he  obtains,  it  may 
lay  the  foundation  of  avarice,  and  give  rise  later  to  the 
excesses  of  miserhuess,  and  even  of  kleptomania. 

Some  tendencies  are  incompatible  one  with  another. 
If  we  excite  one,  we  must  to  some  extent  suppress  another. 
For  instance,  envy  could  be  opposed  by  esjyrit  cle  corps.  A 
boy  could  be  so  consumed  with  the  desire  to  see  the  repu- 
tation of  his  school  augmented  that  he  w^ould  be  delighted 
with  the  achievements  of  his  comi-ades,  even  though  they 
threw  his  own  into  the  shade. 

Not  only  ai'e  some  tendencies  incompatible  with  others 
because  of  opposition  in  their  respective  directions,  but 
there  is  an  incompatibility  due  to  the  limited  capacities  of 
mind  and  brain.  If  a  large  number  of  good  tendencies 
can  be  developed,  there  will  be  little  place  left  for  evil 
tendencies,  which  will  thus  be  inhibited.  A  boy  who  can 
be  induced  to  love  his  school,  to  be  keen  on  gaining  dis- 


CONATION  AND  FEELING.  245 

tinction  both  for  the  institution  and  for  himself,  to  be 
fond  of  sport,  to  enjoy  good  boolcs,  to  pursue  some  hobby 
such  as  collecting  stamps  or  keeping  an  aquariitm,  is  not 
likely  to  find  time,  or  even  to  feel  inclined,  for  the  vices  of 
idleness. 

It  is  this  endeavour  to  bring  out  the  good  that  is  in 
the  child  that  can  most  truly  be  called  education.  The 
etymology  of  the  word  is  worth  considering  (Lat.  e  =  out 
of,  duco  =  I  lead).  It  implies  the  arranging  of  the  child's 
environment  and  circumstances  so  that  the  best  that  is  in 
him  is  called  out. 

Now  punishment  itself  can  sometimes  assist  in  this 
process.  Sometimes  there  are  plenty  of  good  tendencies, 
but  they  are  overwlielmed  by  some  evil  tendency  which 
cannot  be  removed  by  any  other  method  than  brutal 
extinction.  For,  although  we  have  indicated  some  means 
of  ridding  the  child  of  evil  tendencies,  which  will  often 
prove  successful,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  can 
be  applied  in  all  cases.     Take  the  following  example. 

"  Frank,  when  he  was  six,  had  for  a  while  been  away 
from  home  and  on  his  return  suffered  severely  from 
'swollen  head.'  There  was  no  managing  him  in  the 
nursery.  For  a  fortnight,  life  with  him  was  endured  by 
the  nurse  and  the  other  children ;  it  is  difficult  to  find  a 
word  strong  enough  to  describe  the  pitch  of  his  lawless- 
ness and  even  rudeness.  Various  plans  were  tried  to  re- 
duce this  small  sinner  to  order.  At  last  his  mother 
threatened  him  with  a  whipping.  For  two  days  she  was 
full  of  anxiety,  dreading  the  punishment  for  him,  and 
with  the  lad  things  were  better.  Then  the  old  behaviour 
began  again.  Frank  was  properly  whipped.  The  whole 
atmosphere  of  the  house  Avas  dift'ei'ent  afterwards  ;  it  was 
as  if  the  child  had  before  been  possessed  by  a  devil,  now 
angels  came  and  dwelt  in  him !  At  home,  it  was  the  last 
whipping  he  needed  for  more  than  a  year. 

"Punishment  had  produced  an  effect  which,  from  the 
outside,  looked  like  moral  conversion.  Moral  conversion  it 
cannot  be.  Pain  cannot  turn  the  child  from  an  enjoy- 
ment of  wrong-doing  to  a  love  of  right.  What  had  hap- 
pened was  that  the  better  instincts  in  his  nature — better 


246  CONATION  AND  FEELING. 

instincts  which  were  undoubtedly  there — did  not  show 
themselves  in  action,  because  other  and  bad  instincts 
blocked  their  path.  The  result  of  the  punishment  was 
therefore  moral  emancipation,  not  moral  conversion. 
Effective  punishment  prevented  any  further  expression  of 
such  wrong  instincts  in  action,  and  thus  gave  an  oppor- 
tunity for  the  exhibition  of  the  child's  naturally  good 
instincts."^ 

If  we  ai'e  to  reduce  rewards  and  punishments  to  the 
minimum  which  is  the  mark  of  the  successful  educator, 
Ave  must  know  the  various  instinctive  tendencies  which 
children  possess  and  the  way  in  which  they  work.  We 
also  require  to  know  the  differing  strength  of  these 
tendencies  in  the  particular  child  with  which  we  have  to 
deal.  For  they  vary  greatly.  In  some  children  certain 
tendencies  seem  to  be  almost  non-existent,  in  others  they 
are  inordinately  strong.  As  indicated  in  an  earlier  part 
of  this  book,  it  is  impossible  to  deal  with  the  immense 
number  of  individual  variations.  The  teacher  must  study 
each  of  his  pupils  for  himself.  All  we  can  do  here  is 
to  indicate  the  chief  instinctive  tendencies  possessed  by 
most  children,  and  the  way  in  which  they  work.  This  Avill 
form  the  subject  of  our  next  chapter. 


Questions  on  Chapter  XL 

1.  Some  conations  are  largely  instinctive,  or  innate,  some  are 
largely  due  to  the  influence  of  pleasure  or  pain.  Give  examples  of 
each  and  examine  them. 

2.  Punishment  often  tends  to  reform  the  offender.  Indicate  how 
it  produces  this  effect. 

3.  Why  is  it  wrong  to  attempt  to  check  all  bad  tendencies  by 
punishment,  and  to  encourage  all  good  ones  bj'  reward  ? 


]Mumford,  The  Dawn  of  Cliai-acter,  pp.  114,  115. 


CONATION  AND  FEELING.  247 

4.  How  may  good  tendencies  be  strengthened  without  relying  on 
an  elaborate  sj'stem  of  rewards  to  encourage  them  ? 

5.  Mention  some  of  the  ways  in  which  it  is  possible  to  rid  a  child 
of  many  of  his  bad  tendencies  without  relying  chiefly  on  punish- 
ment. 

6.  Why  is  it  justifiable  to  use  small  punishments  and  rewards 
freelj"^  with  very  young  children,  though  we  use  them  sparingly 
later  on? 


CHAPTER    XII. 


The  Instincts  and  Innate  Tendencies. 

We  have  seen  that  conatiou  is  the  mental  force  (cor- 
related on  the  physical  side  with  nervous  energy)  which 
sustains  the  course  of  all  human  activity.  It  has  also 
been  seen  that  every  presentation  (percept,  image,  or  idea) 
is  from  one  point  of  view  a  form  of  conation  and  tends  to 
issue  in  further  activity,  according  to  its  own  intensity 
and  to  the  readiness  or  preparedness  of  the  mind  to  go  on 
in  the  direction  defined  by  it.  It  owes  its  force  to  cona- 
tion, but  it  is  at  the  same  time  a  stimulator,  a  director 
and  a  servant  or  instrument  of  conation.  It  is  like  the 
wise  men  employed  by  a  despot.  The  latter  supports 
them,  but  requires  their  encouragement  and  suggestion, 
their  dii'ection  and  advice,  their  help  and  obedience. 
Looking  at  the  matter  from  the  physical  side,  we  may  say 
that  every  stimulus  tends  to  arouse  a  series  of  excitations 
or  impulses  according  to  its  intensity  or  to  the  readiness 
of  the  nervous  system  to  receive  and  respond  to  it.  Since 
the  states  of  mind  and  of  the  nervous  system,  which 
determine  a  given  kind  of  response,  are  so  intimately 
connected,  it  is  often  found  convenient  to  refer  to  the  two 
together  at  any  particular  time  as  the  psycho-physical 
disposition  of  the  moment. 

We  have  further  seen  that  pleasure  and  pain  play  an 
important  part  in  encouraging  or  discouraging  the 
tendency  in  progress  at  any  given  moment.  They  thus 
help  to  direct  the  course  of  conation  and  to  modify  its 
force.  Pain,  indeed,  seems  often  to  give  rise  to  very 
strong  conations  (aversions)  on  its  own  account, 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  249 

But  the  chief  springs  of  conduct  are  the  instincts  and 
innate  tendencies  given  by  nature.  These,  of  course, 
become  greatly  modified  by  experience.  They  give  rise 
to  habits.  And  we  have  just  indicated  some  of  the  ways 
in  which  these  modifications  are  made. 

But  in  so  far  as  a  fixed  system  of  habits,  adequate  to 
provide  one  and  only  one  response  for  each  situation, 
develops  from,  and  takes  the  place  of,  the  instinctive  and 
innate  tendencies,  our  modes  of  thought  and  conduct 
become  stereotyped,  thus  leaving  little  hope  for  further 
progress. 

To  some  extent  this  does  take  place.  According  to 
Professor  James,  "  Ninety-nine  hundredths  or,  possibly, 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  thousandths  of  our  activity 
is  purely  automatic  and  habitual,  from  our  rising  in  the 
morning  to  our  lying  down  each  night.  Our  dressing  and 
undressing,  our  eating  and  drinking,  our  greetings  and 
partings,  our  hat-raising  and  giving  way  for  ladies  to 
precede,  nay,  even  most  of  the  forms  of  our  common 
speech,  are  things  of  a  type  so  fixed  by  repetition  as  almost 
to  be  classed  as  reflex  actions.  To  each  sort  of  impression 
we  have  an  automatic,  ready-made  response."  ^ 

We  may  be  inclined  to  think  that  Professor  James  has 
given  to  habit  rather  too  large  a  place.  But  we  must 
nevertheless  recognise  that  it  plays  an  exceedingly  im- 
portant part  in  the  making  of  human  character.  And 
this  is  not  to  be  deplored.  For  unless  a  large  amount 
of  our  conduct  is  rendered  automatic,  so  that  it  no  longer 
requires  any  great  effort  of  attention  to  guide  it,  we 
shall  have  little  mental  energy  left  to  grapple  with  new 
situations. 

But,  as  we  have  already  noted,  if  all  our  conduct  is 
habitual,  there  is  no  room  for  further  improvement.  A 
good  machine  is  a  fine  tiling  in  its  place.  A  man,  how- 
ever, must  be  something  more.  No  one  who  is  completely 
swayed  by  habits,  however  good  those  habits  may  be  in 
themselves,  can  live  the  highest  life  which  is  possible 
under   the   conditions   of    modern   civilisation,   with    its 

•  James,  Talks  to  Ttachtrs,  pp.  65,  00, 


250  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

constant  changes  and  consequent  demands  for  frequent 
efforts  of  readjustment. 

On  the  one  hand,  therefore,  it  is  necessary  to  form  a 
large  number  of  good  habits,  so  that  we  are  carried  easily- 
through  the  "  ordinary  "  duties  of  life,  and  are  thus  able 
to  make  some  attempt  at  higher  things  ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  important  to  remember  that  if  the  various 
particular  habits  are  allowed  to  gain  complete  sway,  no 
more  progress  is  possible  (except  that  of  still  further 
fixing  the  habitual). 

There  is,  fortunately,  much  plasticity  in  the  human 
instincts  and  innate  tendencies  during  the  early  part  of 
life.  Usually  a  given  tendency  can  be  evoked  by  a  large 
number  of  differing  objects  or  situations.  And  it  becomes 
greatly  modified  according  to  the  nature  of  the  object 
or  situation  which  evokes  it.  In  this  way,  one  and  the 
same  original  tendency  may  give  rise  to  good  or  to  bad 
habits. 

Further,  the  stereotyping  of  thought  and  conduct  which 
habit  involves  is  hindered  by  the  large  number  of  instincts 
and  innate  tendencies  which  man  possesses,  and  by  the  fact 
that  many  of  these  arise  and  develop  at  different  stages 
during  the  early  part  of  life.  There  is  often  competition 
between  them,  thus  leaving  open  the  door  for  change 
(either  good  or  bad),  even  after  many  habits  have  become 
fixed. 

The  old  view  was  that  only  the  brutes  were  creatures  of 
instinct,  and  that  man  was  almost  free  from  it.  And 
some  seem  still  to  hold  this  view.  "  It  is  often  said  that 
man  is  distinguished  from  the  lower  animals  by  having  a 
much  smaller  assortment  of  native  instincts  and  impulses 
than  they,  but  this  is  a  great  mistake.  Man,  of  course, 
has  not  the  marvellous  egg-laying  instincts  which  some 
articulates  have ;  but,  if  we  compare  him  with  the 
mammalia,  we  are  forced  to  confess  that  he  is  appealed 
to  by  a  much  larger  array  of  objects  than  any  other 
mammal,  that  his  reactions  on  these  objects  are  charac- 
teristic and  determinate  in  a  very  high  degree.  The 
monkeys,  and  especially  the  anthropoids,  are  the  only 
beings  that  approach  him  in  their  analytic  curiosity  and 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  251 

width  of  imitativeness.  His  instinctive  impulses,  it  is 
true,  get  overlaid  by  tlie  secondary  reactions  due  to  his 
superior  reasoning  power ;  but  thus  mau  loses  the  simply 
instinctive  demeanour.  But  the  life  of  instinct  is  only 
disguised  in  him,  not  lost ;  and  when  the  higher  brain- 
functions  are  in  abeyance,  as  happens  in  imbecility  or 
dementia,  his  instincts  sometimes  slaow  their  presence  in 
truly  brutish  ways."  ^ 

Kirkpatrick,  indeed,  goes  a  step  further — at  any  rate  in 
explicitness.  He  appears  to  maintain  that  the  very  reason- 
ing power  which  obscures  the  simpler  life  of  the  instincts  is 
itself  due  to  the  latter.  It  owes  its  development  to  their 
multiplicity.  "  An  animal,"  he  tells  us,  "  that  had  only 
one  possibility  of  response  in  a  given  situation  could  make 
no  use  of  consciousness.  Only  those  animals  that  are 
sufficiently  complex  to  have  more  than  one  mode  of 
response  to  a  given  stimulus  can  profit  by  conscious  intel- 
ligence. It  is  reasonable,  therefore,  to  suppose  that 
instead  of  consciousness  making  new  movements  possible, 
the  acquisition  of  new  possibilities  of  movement  makes 
conscious  intelligence  possible  and  useful,  especially  in 
animals  and  children."  - 

Since  each  instinct  is  a  craving  or  tendency  to  have  or 
think  or  do  something,  it  might  appear  to  some  short- 
sighted persons  that,  with  a  few  instincts  inspiring  us  to 
what  we  choose  to  call  the  more  useful  activities,  and 
quickly  settling  down  into  habits,  we  could  get  along 
better  than  with  the  many  impulses  which  are  continually 
arising  among  human  beings.  But  if  what  Kirkpatrick 
says  is  true,  it  is  precisely  owing  to  the  fact  that  we  have 
a  large  number  of  impulses  which  often  compete  among 
one  another  that  we  have  developed  so  much  intelligence. 
The  bee,  with  his  few  definite  instincts,  is  a  very  useful 
animal.  But  since  only  one  impulse  arises  in  response  to 
each  situation,  the  creature  behaves  automatically  and 
makes  no  appreciable  progress  towards  intellectual  life. 
He   is  far  from  possessing  that  many-sided  interest  which 

'  James,  op.  cif.,  pp.  4.3,  44. 
-  Kirkpatrick,  Fundamentals  of  Child  l^tudy,  p.  38. 


252  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

stimulates  man  to  liis  many  investigations  and  researches. 
So  with  all  the  brutes.     As  Walt  Whitman  says  : — 

"  They  do  not  sweat  and  whine  about  their  condition, 
Tliey  do  not  lie  awake  in  the  dark  and  weep  for  their  sins, 
They  do  not  make  me  sick  discussing  their  duty  to  God  ; 
Not  one  is  dissatisfied,  not  one  is  demented 
With  the  mania  of  owning  things  ;  " 

Their  wants  are  few,  and  easily  satisfied.  Consequently 
they  mate  little,  if  any,  progress  from  generation  to 
generation. 

Even  before  these  modern  views  on  instinct  arose,  some 
thoughtful  writers  were  alive  to  the  importance  of  a 
multiplicity  of  tendencies  in  the  development  of  intel- 
ligence. Thus,  a  century  ago  M.  Itard  wrote  "  that  there 
exists  in  the  most  isolated  savage,  as  well  as  in  the  citizen 
educated  to  the  highest  pitch  of  civilisation,  a  constant 
relation  between  their  ideas  and  their  needs ;  that  the 
ever  increasing  multiplicity  of  the  latter  among  cultured 
peoples  ought  to  be  considered  as  a  great  means  of 
developing  the  mind  of  man ;  so  that  it  may  be  stated  as 
a  general  truth  that  all  the  accidental,  local  or  political 
causes  which  tend  to  augment  or  to  diminish  the  number 
of  our  needs,  necessarily  contribute  to  extend  or  to  restrict 
the  sphere  of  our  knowledge  and  the  domain  of  science, 
of  the  fine  arts,  and  of  social  industry."  ^ 

Since,  then,  our  instincts  and  innate  tendencies  are  so 
important,  both  as  the  foundations  of  our  habits,  and  as 
the  basis  of  still  higher  developments  in  the  life  of  thought 
and  conduct,  it  is  necessary  to  examine  them  in  more 
detail.  Only  by  knowing  the  nature  of  the  material  mth 
which  we  have  to  deal  can  we  hope  to  be  successful  in 
producing  the  desired  modifications  in  it. 

Many  writers  do  not  distinguish  between  instincts  and 
innate  tendencies.  They  refer  to  both  as  "  instinctive 
tendencies."  Mr.  McDougall,  one  of  our  greatest 
authorities  on  this  subject,  has,  however,  made  a  clear 
distinction  between  them.  According  to  him,  an  instinct 
is  "  an  inherited  or    innate   psycho-physical    disposition 

'  Itard,  oj).  cit.,  p.  49. 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  253 

which  determines  its  possessor  to  perceive,  and  to  pay 
attention  to,  objects  of  a  certain  class,  to  experience  an 
emotional  excitement  of  a  particular  quality  upon  perceiv- 
ing such  an  object,  and  to  act  in  regard  to  it  in  a  particular 
manner,  or,  at  least,  to  experience  an  impulse  to  such 
action."^  Human  beings,  in  common  with  the  higher 
animals,  inherit  a  nei'vous  system  with  certain  paths  which 
are  already  in  existence,  or  which  develop  more  or  less 
spontaneously.  These  paths  are  such  that  when  certain 
stimuli  occur  we  perceive  in  a  peculiar  way.  We  do  not 
merely  perceive  an  object  with  the  usual  small  amount  of 
pleasure  or  pain,  and  a  normal  amount  of  conation.  But 
we  are  thrown  into  a  state  of  great  excitement  which  is 
usually  highly  pleasurable  or  j)ainful,  and  which  is  due  to 
a  disturbance  of  the  visceral  oi'gans,  giving  rise  to  intense 
organic  sensations.  At  the  same  time  we  find  ourselves 
performing  certain  definite  bodily  actions,  or  at  any  rate 
tending  to  do  so.  These  actions  are  called  instinctive 
actions. 

Take  the  case  of  fear.  A  child  may  be  looking  out  of 
the  window  when  he  suddenly  hears  the  sound  of  thunder. 
He  is  intensely  excited  internally,  he  screams  and  hides 
himself  or  runs  to  his  mother.  He  has,  then,  the  emotion 
of  fear  and  the  impulse  to  hide  or  to  run  away.  All  this 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  he  possesses  an  inherited  psycho- 
physical disposition  which  we  call  an  instinct,  and  which 
is  excited  by  certain  stimuli — in  this  case,  by  a  loud  noise. 
It  may  also  be  excited,  in  the  case  of  the  child,  by  a  strange 
face,  a  peculiar  animal,  or  by  darkness.  But  whenever  it 
is  aroused,  it  gives  rise  to  the  same  painful  excitement  or 
emotion,  and  to  similar  movements  of  flight.  It  is  a  very 
complex  but  very  definite  reaction  to  percepts  of  certain 
kinds.  Some  writers,  therefore  (e.g.  Spencer),  have  called 
it  a  reflex-action  of  a  very  complex  nature.  We  have 
already  noticed  two  kinds  of  reflex  actions — the  •pure  reflex 
(with  no  consciousness)  and  the  sensation-reflex.  We  may 
speak  of  the  instinctive  action  as  a  perception-reflex. 

Instincts,  therefore,  involve  specific  tendencies — tenden- 

^  McDougall,  Social  Pnycholoiju,  Third  I'klilion,  p.  29. 


254  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

cies  to  act  and  think  in  very  definite  directions.  But 
what  we  have  called  innate  tendencies  have  no  such 
definite  character.  They  arise  out  of  the  general  con- 
stitution of  mind.  We  all  have,  for  instance,  a  general 
tendency  to  imitate  others.  This  is  often  referred  to  as 
the  "instinct"  of  imitation.  But  it  involves  no  charac- 
teristic emotion,  nor  does  it  give  rise  to  any  special  kind 
of  action.  The  actions,  indeed,  to  which  it  disposes  us 
may  be  as  varied  as  those  of  the  persons  around  us 
whom  we  are  constrained  to  copy. 

Since  these  instincts  and  innate  tendencies  are  at  the 
basis  of  so  much  of  our  activity,  it  is  well  that  the 
teacher  should  make  a  survey  of  the  principal  ones,  so 
that  he  may  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  general  tendencies 
of  the  human  nature  with  which  he  has  to  deal.  This,  of 
course,  will  not  solve  the  whole  problem  of  understanding 
and  dealing  with  his  pupils.  For  these  instincts  and 
tendencies  occur  with  varying  force  in  different  individuals. 
But  it  will  put  him  in  a  position  to  recognise  more  clearly 
the  difference  between  child  and  child,  and  to  modify  his 
treatment  accordingly.  We  will  proceed,  therefore,  to 
survey — 

The  Principal  Instincts  of  Man. 

(1)  The  Instinct  of  Flight  and  Concealment  with  its 
Emotion  of  Fear. — Some  account  has  already  been  given  of 
this.  In  man,  the  unfamiliar  plays  a  large  part  in  evok- 
ing it.  The  object  causing  fear  tends  to  rivet  the  attention 
and  to  inhibit  all  other  action  but  that  involved  in  escaping 
or  in  concealing  oneself.  Any  object  which  has  caused 
great  pain  and  which  we  cannot  master  or  control,  so  that 
we  feel  ourselves  helpless  before  it,  seems  to  have  the 
power  of  evoking  this  instinct.  Corporal  punishment 
often  produces  this  effect  in  the  child.  The  idea  of  it,  as 
well  as  the  perception  of  pi-eparations  for  it,  seems  to  act 
in  a  similar  way  to  that  of  the  percept  of  an  unfamiliar 
thing.  The  prospect  of  an  indefinite  amount  of  punish- 
ment involves  uncertainty.  This  imcertainty  seems  to 
have  the  same  influence  as  the  uufamiliarity  of  the  per- 
ceptual stimulus  in  the  more  primitive  cases.     It  is  well 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  255 

known  that  the  prospect  of  a  punishment  which  is  unknown, 
both  as  to  kind  and  amount,  evokes  more  fear  than  that  of 
one  which  can  be  definitely  imagined  and  estimated. 

But  we  must  not  ignore  the  effect  of  pain  in  all  such 
cases.  When  great  pain  first  occurs  it  initiates  a  strong 
aversive  tendency,  which  is  re-excited  at  the  idea  of  a 
repetition  of  the  experience,  or  at  the  perception  of  a 
situation  similar  to  that  experience.  Possibly,  indeed, 
pain  has  been  the  origin  of  the  dread  of  the  unfamiliar. 
In  the  long  history  of  tlie  race,  pain  may  have  played  its 
part  in  causing  all  unfamiliar  things  to  evoke  this  power- 
ful emotion  and  the  strong  aversive  tendency  in  which 
it  issues.  Our  remote  ancestors  may  have  frequently 
stumbled  into  painful  situations  when  venturing  beyond 
the  confines  of  the  limited  sphere  in  which  they  lived 
and  to  which  they  had  become  familiar,  so  that  they  were 
disposed  to  feel  dread  whenever  they  found  themselves 
out  of  the  well-known  home. 

It  seems  probable  that  both  severe  pain  and  the  un- 
familiar owe  much  of  the  influence  which  they  exert  to  the 
co-operation  of  a  more  general  and  fundamental  innate 
tendency — that  of  self-preservation.  I  In  so  far  as  the 
individual  is  able  to  deal  with  the  painful  or  unfamiliar 
objects,  or  at  least  to  ignore  them,  passing  on  to  other 
things,  he  does  not  experience  fear.  In  so  far,  however, 
as  they  come  upon  him  in  irresistible  fashion,  giving  him 
no  opportunity  to  grapple  with  them,  not  only  making  him 
feel  helpless  before  them,  but  having  the  appearance  of 
l)eing  on  the  point  of  coming  to  close  quarters  with  him, 
they  call  out  the  tendency  to  self-preservation. 

We  speak  of  the  object  of  fear  as  danger.  Our  remote 
ancestors  must  frequently  have  been  overtaken  and 
mauled  by  unfamiliar  things  and  creatures  in  order  that 
the  tendency  in  question  should  be  aroused  innately  in  us 
by  so  many  strange  objects.  It  is  to  be  noted  in  this 
connection  that  moving  things  are  the  more  likely  to  evoke 
fear,  "  especially  men  or  animals  advancing  toward  us  in 
a  threatening  way."  '     The  fact  that  loud  noises  and  dark- 

'  James,  Prlncipkn  of  PKyrholofjij,  Vol.  II.,  p.  417. 


256  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

ness  give  frequent  occasions  for  fear  must  also  be  ex- 
plained largely  by  associations  formed  in  the  course  of 
racial  development.  We  must  remember  that  wild  beasts 
give  vent  to  roars  during  their  attacks,  that  any  other 
loud  noise  is  usually  made  by  some  irresistible  force  before 
which  primitive  man  would  feel  himself  powerless,  as  the 
fall  of  a  huge  tree,  a  thunderstorm,  a  gale,  a  cataract,  and 
so  forth.  Our  ancestors  would  therefore  be  constantly  on 
the  alert  for  distvirbing  sounds.  With  respect  to  the  fear 
of  darkness,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  "  our  savage 
ancestors  through  innumerable  generations  were 
accustomed  to  meet  with  dangerous  beasts  in  caverns, 
especially  bears,  and  wei'e  for  the  most  part  attacked  by 
such  beasts  during  the  night  and  in  the  woods,  and  that 
thus  an  inseparable  association  between  the  perception  of 
darkness  of  caverns  and  woods,  and  fear  took  place,  and 
was  inherited."  ^ 

Education  endeavours  both  to  rid  the  child  of  un- 
necessary fear,  and  to  make  use  of  the  instinct  in  other 
cases  as  an  inhibitor  of  undesirable  tendencies.  Since  the 
imfamiliar  arouses  fear,  we  can  often  diminish  the  latter 
by  making  the  child  familiar  with  the  cause  of  his  dread. 
As  we  have  already  seen,  we  have  in  some  cases  to  utilise 
the  fear  of  punishment  as  the  only  means  of  definitely 
checking  certain  undesirable  tendencies. 

(2)  The  Instinct  of  Repulsion  and  the  Emotion  of 
Disgust. — Like  the  last,  this  is  an  aversive  tendency.  In 
its  primitive  form,  it  involves  the  rejection  from  the  mouth 
of  noxious  and  evil-tasting  substances,  and  the  shudder- 
ing aversion  from  the  touch  of  slimy  and  slippery  things. 
In  the  course  of  human  development,  many  kinds  of  things 
become  capable  of  exciting  the  instinct  on  account  of  their 
resemblance  to  the  primitive  excitants  of  the  tendency. 
The  actions,  speech,  or  general  character  of  a  man  may 
cause  our  disgiist. 

Here,  again,  we  see  how  an  original  perceptual  reflex 
may  be  excited  by  ideas  having  something  in  common  with 
the  concrete  objects  which  first  gave  rise  to  the  reaction. 

'  Schneider,  Der  Menschliche  Wille,  p.  224. 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATEl    TENDENCIES.  257 

The  teaclier  can  use  tliis  fact  iu  coiiuectioii  with  the 
moral  educatiou  of  his  pupils.  It  is  not  possible  to 
hide  from  the  children,  Avhether  in  the  sphere  of  real  life 
or  in  that  of  literature  (which  is  a  representation  of  life), 
the  existence  of  evil  characters.  But  it  is  possible  to  see 
to  it  that  these  things  come  under  their  notice  in  such  a 
way  and  in  such  circumstances  that  their  disgust  is 
excited  to  the  full.  Evil  characters  must  not  be  dwelt 
upon  so  that  they  hold  the  attention  of  the  children  too 
long  or  too  vividly  ;  they  should  be  shown  up  against 
the  background  of  noble  characters.  As  we  shall  see 
later,  the  teacher's  emotional  attitude  with  regard  to 
them  is  liable  to  communicate  itself  to  the  children  by 
sympathetic  "  induction."  The  teacher  can  do  much  by 
his  treatment  of  the  lessons  (especially  in  history  and 
litei'ature)  to  evoke  desirable  emotions  in  the  minds  of 
his  pupils. 

(3)  The  Instinct  of  Curiosity  and  the  Emotion  of 
Wonder. — This  is  not  an  aversive,  but  an  appetitive 
tendency.  Its  impulse  is  to  approach  and  to  examine  more 
closely  the  object  which  excites  it.  The  object  must  be 
unfamiliar.  We  are  not  curious  about  an  object  which  we 
already  fully  understand.  But  it  must  not  be  exceedingly 
unfamiliar.  If  it  is,  it  will  either  be  ignored  or  feared — 
the  former  in  the  case  of  objects  which  are  not  striking, 
the  latter  in  the  case  of  those  which  produce  strong  im- 
pressions. There  must,  therefore,  be  some  familiarity  as 
well  as  unfamiliarity  if  curiosity  is  to  be  excited.  The 
object  must  be  similar,  to,  yet  perceptibly  different  from, 
familiar  objects  habitually  noticed.  Often  an  object  is  on 
the  border  line  between  the  realm  of  the  unfamiliar,  which 
causes  fear,  and  the  pai-tially  familiar,  which  excites 
curiosity.  "  Hence  the  two  instincts,  with  their  opposed 
impulses  of  approach  and  retreat,  are  apt  to  be  excited  in 
animals  and  very  young  children  in  rapid,  alternation,  and 
simultaneously  in  ourselves.  Who  has  not  seen  a  horse 
or  other  animal  alternately  approach  in  curiosity,  and  flee 
in  fear  fi'om,  some  such  object  as  an  old  coat  upon  the 
ground  ?  "  ' 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit,,  \).  5S. 
EUND.  I'SY.  17 


258  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

The  iustiuct  of  curiosity  is  a  most  iniportant  one  from 
tlie  teaclier's  point  of  view,  particularly  with  respect  to 
iiistructiou.  It  is  the  motive  power  underlyiiig  much  of 
our  scientific  investigation  (though  other  instincts  which 
we  shall  presently  note  assist  it — e.g.  the  instinct  of  self- 
display)  .  And  the  teacher  must  evoke  it  if  he  is  to  obtain 
a  real  interest  in  his  lessons.  In  his  teaching,  he  must 
avoid  confining  himself  on  the  one  hand  to  the  very 
familiar,  and  on  the  other  hand  to  the  very  iinfamiliar. 
The  former  will  bore  his  pupils,  because  it  provides  no 
incitement  to  further  mental  activity.  The  latter  will  fail 
to  interest  them,  because  their  mental  activity  is  baffled  by 
it ;  it  has  no  connection  with  the  knowledge  which  they 
already  possess  ;  they  have  consequently  no  mental 
apparatus  with  which  to  grasp  it. 

But  why  does  not  the  unfamiliar  cause  fear  in  these 
cases  ?  If  it  could,  it  would  secure  attention,  though 
not  that  attention  that  develoj)s  into  further  attacks 
on  the  subject,  but  rather  that  which  is  necessary  to  get 
away  from  it;  for  fear  is  an  aversive  tendency.  There 
may  be  some  cases  in  which  what  is  presented  is  so  un- 
familiar, and  at  the  same  time  so  striking,  that  fear  is 
evoked.  But  the  conditions  of  a  lesson  in  school  are 
all  against  fear.  It  has  already  been  noted  that  probably 
the  unfamiliar  owes  its  power  of  producing  fear  to  a  deep- 
seated,  though  often  hidden,  connection  between  strange 
objects  and  the  experience  of  pain.  The  terrible  is  appre- 
hended not  merely  as  the  incomprehensible,  but  as  the 
hurtful.  Now  the  whole  attitude  of  both  teacher  and 
scholars  in  a  lesson  is  opposed  to  any  apprehension  of 
harm.  The  unfamiliar  is  therefore  merely  incompre- 
hensible. It  is  not  impressive  or  striking,  and  it  is  con- 
sequently either  ignored,  or,  in  so  far  as  some  attention 
to  it  is  constrained,  it  is  a  source  of  enmd. 

It  is  necessary,  therefore,  for  the  teacher  to  arrange  his 
lessons  so  that  the  pupils  are  able  to  apprehend  the  new 
on  a  background  of  the  old.  He  must  see  that  the  lesson 
is  neither  too  new  nor  too  old  ;  he  has  to  hit  the  right 
proportion  between  the  two.  In  reflecting  on  his  lesson, 
he  must  answer   the   three  questions — (1)  What  do  the 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  259 

pupils  already  know  ou  tliis  subject  ?  (2)  How  much  new 
mattei'  can  be  profitably  added  in  the  time  allotted  ? 
(3)  How  can  the  new  be  connected  with  the  old  ? 

This  is  partly  what  is  meant  by  the  educational  maxim : 
Proceed  from  the  hnoivn  to  the  uuknowii.  The  Herbartian 
method  of  arranging  a  lesson  recognises  this  necessity  to 
the  full.  It  begins  with  preparation,  i.e.  the  evoking  in 
the  minds  of  the  pupils,  the  raising  to  full  consciousness, 
of  all  the  existing  ideas  which  will  help  in  the  compre- 
hension, or,  as  it  is  often  called,  the  apperception  of  the 
new.  It  matters  little  whether  we  call  it  preparation  or 
introduction.     All  good  teachers  recognise  its  necessity. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that,  after  all,  the  nev)  is  the 
stimulus  to  curiosity.  This  is  all  the  more  necessary  to 
remember  because  much  of  our  work  in  school  consists 
of  repetition.  Ri'petez  sans  cesse  was  Jacotot's  motto  in 
teaching.  But  continued  repetition  destroys  the  interest 
born  of  curiosity.  The  intelligent  teacher  will,  however, 
find  means  to  introduce  something  of  the  new  even  here. 
He  will  supplement  Jacotot's  motto  with  the  proviso — 
Ne  repetez  jamais  deuxfois  de  la  memefaron.  Even  when 
he  has  to  go  over  the  subject  again,  he  Avill  attack  it 
from  a  somewhat  different  point  of  view.  He  will,  at  any 
rate,  evoke  new  motives  for  the  attack.  If  he  can  do 
nothing  else,  he  Avill  make  the  revision  into  a  competition 
between  section  and  section,  or  between  boy  and  boy,  or  he 
will  propose  some  experiment  to  the  boys,  inducing  them 
to  try  how  much  they  can  learn  in  one  way,  how  much  in 
anotlaer.  But  these  methods,  especially  those  involving 
rivalry,  make  appeal  to  other  instinctive  tendencies.  We 
shall  deal  with  these  later. 

(4)  The  Instinct  of  Pvgnacity  and  the  Emotion  of  Anger. 
— This  instinct  has  no  special  kind  of  object  which  appeals 
to  it.  Any  object  which  causes  or  implies  opposition 
to  the  free  exercise  of  one  of  the  other  impulses  tends 
to  excite  it.  Its  impulse  is  to  break  down  and  destroy 
the  opposition.  Although  parents  and  teachers  find 
this  instinct  very  troublesome  when  it  conflicts  with 
their  designs,  they  should  remember  that  it  involves 
great  conative  force.     It  is  a  matter  of  common  know- 


260  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDEJNClES. 

ledge  that  many  boys  who  have  giveu  much  trouble  to 
their  guveruors  during  childhood  have  achieved  great 
success  in  after  life.  A  man  devoid  of  the  pugnacious 
instinct  would  not  accomplish  much.  As  self-control  is 
developed,  the  crude  expressions  of  anger  disappear ;  the 
energy  of  the  instinct  tends  to  reinforce  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  and  so  helps  the  individual  to  make  greater 
efforts  to  overcome  his  difficulties. 

(5)  The  Instincts  of  Self-Assertion  (or  Self-Display)  and 
of  8 elf- Abasement  {or  Subjection)  and  the  Emotions  of 
Mation  and  Subjection. — These  instincts  can  only  arise  in 
our  relations  with  our  fellows. 

They  are  essentially  social  instincts.  They  require 
spectators,  though  at  any  given  moment  these  may  l^e  only 
imagined. 

The  instinct  of  self-display  shows  itself  very  early  in 
human  life.  In  its  higher  forms  it  involves  self-couscious- 
uess,  and  is  known  as  pride.  But  it  can  be  noted  long 
before  self-consciousness  develops.  Even  the  higher 
animals  show  signs  of  it.  "  Perhaps  among  mammals 
the  horse  displays  it  most  clearly.  The  muscles  of  all 
parts  are  strongly  innervated,  the  creature  holds  himself 
erect,  his  neck  is  arched,  his  tail  lifted,  his  motions  become 
superfluously  vigorous  and  extensive,  he  lifts  his  hoofs 
high  in  the  air,  as  he  parades  before  the  eyes  of  his 
fellows."^  The  young  child's  showing  off  before  the 
admiring  gaze  of  his  elders  and  his  repeated  commands, 
"  See  me  do  this,"  "  See  how  well  I  can  do  that,"  are 
expressions  of  the  same  tendency.  This  self-assertion  is 
one  of  the  most  imperious  demands  of  our  nature,  and  it 
is  a  cause  of  much  of  our  most  persistent  endeavour.  We 
shall  see  that  it  is  one  of  the  factors  in  the  tendency  to 
emulation  or  rivalry.  The  teacher,  therefore,  should  not 
check  it  brutally,  but  rather  utilise  it  to  lead  the  child 
to  make  efforts  in  those  directions  which  are  desii'able. 
It  need  only  be  checked  when  it  conflicts  with  the  develop- 
ment of  other  members  of  the  community. 

The   instinct  of  euhjection  shows  itself  "  in  a  slinking, 

'  MoDougall,  op,  cit.,  p.  62. 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  261 

crestfallen  behaviour,  a  general  diminution  of  muscular 
tone,  slow  restricted  movements,  a  hanging  down  of  the 
head,  and  sidelong  glances."  ^  Like  the  instinct  just  dealt 
with,  it  requires  self-consciousness  in  its  higher  forms. 
But  simpler  forms  show  themselves  where  no  self-con- 
sciousness is  possible.  Thus  a  young  dog  will  some- 
times show  subjection  on  the  approach  of  a  larger  and 
older  one  ;  "he  crouches  or  crawls  with  legs  so  bent  that 
his  belly  scrapes  the  ground,  his  back  hollowed,  his  tail 
tucked  away,  his  head  sunk  and  turned  a  little  on  one  side, 
and  so  approaches  the  imposing  stranger  with  every  mark 
of  submission."  2  The  teacher  is  constantly  making  use 
of  this  instinct.  He  appears  as  a  creature  bigger,  stronger 
and  wiser  than  the  child,  and  the  latter,  in  spite  of  self- 
assertive  and  other  tendencies  which  manifest  themselves 
from  time  to  time,  feels  himself  greatly  inferior,  and  is 
disposed  to  subjection  and  obedience.  It  is  this  attitude, 
often  comlnned  it  is  true  with  others  of  which  we  shall 
speak  later,  which  eual)les  the  teacher  to  make  so  great 
an  impression  on  the  child.  It  leads  the  child  to  accept 
a  great  deal  on  the  mere  word  of  the  teacher,  to  imitate 
much  of  the  hitter's  conduct,  and  even  in  some  degree  to 
reflect  his  emotions.  And  at  a  time  when  the  child  is 
unable  to  think  and  to  choose  for  himself,  it  is  right 
that  the  teacher  should  make  full  use  of  his  power. 

Reference  was  made  on  the  first  page  of  this  book  to 
"  the  power  of  control,  a  somewhat  mysterious  means  of 
influencing  others  to  attention  an<l  obedience."  There  is 
little  doubt  that  this  power  is  largely  due  to  the  fact  that 
some  teachers  have  a  personality  which  calls  out  the 
instinct  of  sul_)jecti()n  in  the  children.  Usually  such 
teachers  have  a  strong  instinct  of  self-assertion  in  their 
nature.  Many,  of  course,  possess  this  without  being 
aware  of  it.  A  training  college  student  was  once  l)(>ing 
interviewed  with  respect  to  her  fitness  for  appointment, 
and  it  was  noted  that  she  had  an  excellent  mark  for 
discipline.  She  was  asked  how  she  managed  to  obtain 
such    strong    control    of    her   classes.      Her  reply — due 

'  Op.  cit.,  p.  64,  •  Op.  c!l.,  p.  65. 


262  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

probably  in  part  to  nervousness — was,  "  I  don't  know." 
She  was,  however,  indicating  a  fact  of  great  importance. 
Her  personahty  was  such  that  children  listened  to  her, 
and   did  what  she  told  them,  "  quite  naturally." 

Few  teachers  are  able  to  control  in  this  easy  manner. 
Those  students,  however,  who  have  little  power  of  self- 
assertion,  who  find  children  continually  in  opposition  to 
them,  would  do  well  to  question  seriously  their  fitness  for 
the  teaching  profession.  Such  individuals  will  achieve 
little  with  children,  and  their  lives  will  be  most  miserable. 
An  adequate  amount  of  impressiveness  in  the  presence  of 
a  company  of  children  is  a  necessary  part  of  the  equipment 
of  the  teacher.  Some  are  specially  blessed  by  nature,  and 
have  consideraVj'e  advantages  with  which  to  start.  A  good 
physique,  a  strong  deep  voice,  a  determined  look,  a 
confident  manner  and  bearing,  athletic  prowess  well  known 
to  the  boys,  all  these  help.  But  those  who,  being  without 
these  advantages,  yet  possess  determination,  can  go 
far,  by  careful  attention  and  eifort,  to  improve  their 
impressiveness.  One  should  cultivate  self-control  and 
reserve.  It  is  not  good  to  become  very  familiar.  The 
children  must  not  know  their  teacher  too  well  or  too 
quickly.  Familiarity  breeds  contempt.  The  teacher 
should,  during  the  early  stages  at  all  events,  remain 
somewhat  of  an  unknown  quantity.  He  should  be  chary 
of  his  punishments  and  threats,  trying  to  get  on  as  long 
as  possible  on  the  assumption  that  things  are  bound  to  be 
satisfactory.  Many  young  teachers,  in  their  anxiety  to 
impress  the  boys,  run  through  the  whole  gamut  of  punish- 
ments which  they  can  inflict  in  the  coiirse  of  a  few  hours. 
They  are  then  left  with  notliing  further  to  do,  and  the 
boys  hiow  ji^-ecisely  their  limitations.  Their  loss  of 
temper,  their  tiireats,  and  their  vain  commands  only  serve 
to  weaken  still  further  their  position.  Instead  of  invoking 
the  negative  self-feeling  of  the  boys,  they  now  excite  their 
positive  self-feeling,  and  attempts  at  insm*rection  become 
more  and  more  audacious  until  a  stronger  person  is 
required  to  intei'fere  in  order  to  save  the  situation. 

Grood  knowledge  of  his  subject  and  careful  preparation 
of  each  lesson  help  in  giving  the  teacher  confidence,  and, 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  263 

further,  enable  him  to  interest  the  pupils.  Durins^  the 
time  that  these  are  thoroughly  engrossed  in  the  lesson 
there  is  little  opportunity  for  their  opposition  to  show 
itself.  It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  thorough 
knowledge  of  a  subject  is  one  of  the  means  of  impressing 
others  with  one's  superiority.  And  even  children  are  to 
some  extent  impressed  by  the  learning  and  ability  of  their 
teacher.  He  should  not  only  know  his  lesson,  but  should 
have  all  the  technique  of  school  management  at  his  fingers' 
ends,  so  that  he  goes  about  his  work  in  business-like 
fashion.  If  he  has  not  a  naturally  good  speaking  voice, 
he  can  at  any  rate  do  much,  by  modulation  and  variation 
of  loudness  and  speed  (in  harmony,  of  course,  with  his 
subject),  to  make  his  speech  effective  and  pleasant.  He 
must  also  cultivate  clearness  of  articulation  and  aptness  of 
expression.  Finally,  he  must  be  in  sympathy  with  his 
children,  and  should  show  a  real  interest  in  them,  both  in 
school  and  out.  Although  it  is  necessary  to  be  firm  and 
somewhat  aloof,  it  is  necessary  also  to  be  kind.  A  cold 
masterful  attitude  may  evoke  little  response  but  opposition, 
especially  if  the  teacher  has  little  I'eal  impressiveness. 
But  a  masterful  attitude  combined  with  kindness  will 
scarcely  fail  to  produce  the  right  effects.  Some  teachers, 
indeed,  have  ruled  principally  by  love.  This,  however, 
has  usually  been  under  special  circumstances.  The 
ordinary  classes  in  public  elementary  schools  cannot  be 
ruled  satisfactorily  in  this  way  alone.  In  these  cases,  "  the 
affection  which  is  based  upon  a  wholesome  awe  is  that 
which  the  master  should  seek  to  inspire."  ' 

(6)  The  Parental  Instinct  and  the  Tender  Emotion. — 
This,  of  course,  is  an  instinct  which  is  comparatively 
late  in  developing.  And  for  the  teacher  of  young 
children,  it  plays  a  part  of  less  importance  than  it 
does  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  sociologist,  who 
concerns  himself  with  the  whole  human  race.  But 
according  to  McDougall,  it  is  at  the  root  of  all  tendencies 
which  exhibit  love  and  tenderness ;  from  it  spring 
generosity,   gratitude,   love,  pity,  true    benevolence,  and 

■  Keatinge,  Suggestioiis  in  I^ducation,  p,  81. 


264  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

altniistic  conduct  of  every  kind  ;  it  is  the  chief  source 
also  of  moral  indignation,  and  of  the  love  of  justice. 

If  this  is  so,  we  can  only  explain  the  existence  of  some 
of  these  qualities  in  children  hy  the  fact  of  imitation  or 
sympathetic  "  induction,"  and  also,  perhaps,  by  the  fact 
that,  although  the  instinct  is  not  fully  developed  in  them, 
it  begins  to  show  itself  in  partial  and  incomplete  forms  long 
before  it  arises  in  its  full  sti-ength.  This  view,  at  any  rate, 
will  console  the  teacher  who  reflects  bitterly  on  the  lack  of 
altruistic  tendencies  which  he  finds  in  his  pupils.  He  will 
do  well  to  remember  that  it  is  useless  to  look  for  the 
mature  fruit  before  the  plant  has  fully  developed.  This 
thought,  however,  will  not  prevent  him  from  doing  his 
utmost  in  cultivating,  by  example  and  precept,  all  the 
finer  altruistic  qualities  of  which  his  pupils  are  capable. 

The  seven  instincts  already  described  seem  to  be  the 
most  definite.  There  are  many  others  of  less  well-defined 
emotional  tendency,  to  some  of  which  reference  is  necessary, 
since  they  affect  the  teacher's  work.  The  gregarious 
instinct  prompts  individuals  to  seek  the  society  of  their 
fellows.  It  is  no  doubt  very  strong  in  some  cases,  and 
might  be  cited  as  one  of  the  motives  which  induce  a  child 
possessing  it  in  a  high  degree  to  come  to  school.  The 
separation  of  a  child  from  his  comrades,  though  indeed 
wounding  him  in  other  ways,  involves  some  pain  on 
account  of   this  deprivation  of  fellowship. 

Eeference  has  already  been  made  to  the  instinct  of 
acquisition,  as  well  as  to  some  of  the  uses  to  which  it  may 
be  put.  There  is  also  a  definite  instinct  of  construction. 
Children  soon  show  an  impulse  to  make  things,  though  the 
things  may  only  be  mud  pies  or  toy  houses  and  bridges. 
This  instinct  is  utilised  in  handwork.  For  this,  "  construc- 
tiveness  is  the  instinct  most  active ;  and  by  the  incessant 
hammering  and  sawing,  and  dressing  and  undressing  dolls, 
putting  of  things  together  and  taking  them  apart,  the 
child  not  only  trains  the  muscles  to  co-ordinate  action,  but 
accumulates  a  store  of  physical  conceptions  which  are  the 
basis  of  his  knowledge  of  the  material  world  through  life."  ' 

'  James,  Tails  to  Teachers,  p.  146. 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  205 

Closely  connected  with,  and  not  readily  distinguishable 
from,  the  instinct  of  constnictiou  is  the  instinct  of 
manipulating  objects,  which  is  also  difficult  to  distinguish 
from  some  of  the  more  general  innate  tendencies  which  we 
shall  presently  proceed  to  disc-uss,  especially  from  the 
tendency  to  play  and  the  still  more  general  tendency  to 
bodily  activity.  It  is  this  instinct  of  manipulation  which 
leads  a  child  to  take  things  to  pieces,  and  often  to  commit 
what  appear  to  be  wanton  acts  of  destruction.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  instinct  of  curiosity  often  co-operates 
with  it. 

Of  other  prominent  instincts,  such  as  the  sexual  instinct 
and  tliat  of.  feeding,  we  shall  say  nothing  here. 

Before  proceeding  to  enumerate  the  more  definite  of  the 
innate  tendencies  it  will  be  well  for  the  sake  of  comparative 
completeness  to  give  independent  mention  to  one  impulse 
which  seems  to  underlie  and  support  many  of  the  instincts 
which  have  ali'eady  been  recognised.  It  is  often  itself 
referred  to  as  an  instinct,  and  is  called  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation.  It  may  be  defined  as  the  impulse  to  continue 
one's  existence,  and  it  is,  of  course,  essentially  egoistic. 
Under  the  most  favourable  conditions  of  modei'n  civilisa- 
tion it  seldom  appears  as  a  separate  impulse,  nor  indeed  do 
the  instincts  most  closely  bound  up  with  it  (e.g.  fear  and 
tlie  feeding  instinct)  exert  such  sway  over  a  man's  actions 
as  they  have  done,  and  as  they  continue  to  do,  imder  the 
more  primitive  conditions  of  life.  The  impulse  to  self- 
preservation  remains  in  the  background  during  most  of 
the  life  of  a  healthy,  cultured  man,  who  enjoys  almost 
automatically  all  the  chief  benefits  of  modern  society. 

But  at  any  moment  the  impulse  may  leap  from  its 
apparent  sleep  to  the  most  vigorous  life.  The  "  object" 
which  excites  it  is  anytliing  wliich  cliecks,  or  seems  to 
check,  the  general  life-process.  A  person  tlirown  into  the 
water  stniggles  for  existence.  If  the  vital  forces  sink 
low  in  illness,  and  especially  if  there  is  difficulty  in 
Ijreathing,  we  oHv.n  note  a  violent  attempt  to  fight  against 
the  restricting  influences.  Many  writers  afiii-m  that  this 
impulse  is  ultimately  responsible  for  much  of  the  effort 
made  by  man  in  his  struggles  with  nature.     That  it  is 


266  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

innate  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  sometimes  those  who, 
tired  of  life,  throw  themselves  into  the  water  are  seen  to 
begin  at  once  to  struggle  for  existence.  It  can  hardly  be 
said  that  they  suddenly  "  change  their  minds."  It  must 
rather  be  affirmed  that  the  changed  circumstances  arouse 
the  impulse  of  self-preservation. 

We  come,  now,  to  deal  with  those  general  tendencies  of 
human  nature  which,  though  connected  with  some  of  the 
instincts  already  described,  and  often,  therefore,  called 
"instincts,"  are  better  described  as — 

Innate  Tendencies. 

(1)  Sympathy  or  the  Sympathetic  Induction  of  the 
Emotions. — The  primitive  sympathy  to  which  reference  is 
here  made  implies  none  of  the  higher  moral  qualities  usually 
connoted  by  the  term.  It  is,  indeed,  an  element  of  the  higher 
forms.  But  it  is  not  to  be  confused  with  them.  It  shows 
itself  on  the  perceptual  plane,  and  requires  no  ideation  or 
imagery  to  account  for  it.  It  is  well  known  that  if  one 
animal  in  a  herd  of  wild  beasts  shows  fear  and  rushes 
off  in  flight,  the  others  may  follow  suit.  This  does  not 
necessarily  imply  that  they  perceive  the  same  thing.  All 
that  is  necessary  to  account  for  it  is  that  the  psycho- 
physical disposition  which  we  call  an  instinct  is  capable  of 
being  excited  not  only  by  certain  unfamiliar  objects  but 
also  by  the  perception  of  manifestations  of  the  instinctive 
emotion  in  other  members  of  the  same  species. 

The  sympathetic  spread  of  emotion  among  children 
occurs  in  the  same  way.  We  often  call  it  the  "  sympathy 
of  numbers."  The  intelligent  teacher  knows  that  if  he 
can  obtain  the  emotional  attitude  he  desires  from  the 
majority  of  his  boys,  the  others  are  likely  to  be  similarly 
affected.  But  he  knows  also  that  a  marked  departure 
from  this  attitude  on  the  part  of  one  or  two  individuals 
may  rapidly  spread  to  the  majority.  Accordingly  he 
endeavours  on  the  one  hand  to  keep  the  majority  in 
sympathy  with  him,  and  on  the  other  to  concentrate  his 
influence  on  the  one  or  two  "  dangerous  "  members  of  the 
class,  so  that  they  are  unable  to  withstand  the  force  of  his 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  267 

■  stronger  personality.  He  is  able  to  succeed  in  the  latter 
task  in  so  far  as  his  endeavour  in  the  former  direction 
accomplishes  its  purpose.  Hence  the  need  of  keeping  in 
sympathy  with  the  majority  of  the  boys.  Unless  the 
teacher  can  feel  that  the  bulk  of  the  boys  are  with  him,  he 
cannot  hope  to  hold  his  class.  He  must  be  careful,  there- 
fore, to  do  nothing  which  estranges  him  from  the  rank  and 
file.  This  does  not  mean  that  he  is  to  truckle  to  the 
lower  tendencies  of  his  boys.  As  a  rule,  if  he  deals  fairly 
with  them,  so  that  they  feel  him  to  be  in  the  right,  he  will 
carry  them  with  him.  He  can  be  firm  ;  but  he  must  be 
friendly.  When  he  has  achieved  this  relation  with  his 
boys,  he  will  find  it  possible  to  bring  his  whole  personality — 
supported  also  by  the  general  "  tone  "  of  the  class — to 
bear  upon  the  few  individuals  who  are  likely  to  challenge 
his  authority.  Many  young  teachers  fail  to  understand 
the  true  position.  They  imagine  that  by  inspiring  a 
wholesome  di-ead  thi'oughout  the  class  they  will  be  able  to 
coerce  all  the  boys  into  the  proper  attitude.  They  fail  to 
see  that  they  are  running  the  risk  of  evoking  a  spirit  of 
angry  rebellion,  which  may  spread  thi-ough  the  whole  class 
and  turn  even  the  most  well-meaning  boys  into  enemies 
of  the  teacher's  authority. 

With  boys,  as  with  adult  human  beings,  there  ai-e 
leaders.  They  are  not  always  the  most  intelligent,  or  the 
most  gifted  in  other  ways.  They  are  not  always  definitely 
recognised  as  leaders  by  the  other  boys,  nor  are  they  them- 
selves always  fully  conscious  of  the  position  which  they 
hold.  But  the  intelligent  teacher  can  soon  "  spot "  tliem, 
though  it  is  often  advisable  that  he  should  not  add  to 
their  importance  by  proclaiming  his  knowledge.  When 
the  general  attitude  of  a  class  is  so  undesirable  that  the 
possibility  of  "  getting  a  majority  "  by  direct  methods  is 
small,  it  is  sometimes  best  to  attack  the  difficulty  through 
these  leaders.  If  the  teacher  can  secure  their  sympathy 
and  co-operation,  the  work  of  revolutionising  the  whole 
class  is  greatly  facilitated.  Often  the  fact  that  they  them- 
selves are  not  aware  of  their  position  as  leaders  renders 
the  teacher's  task  more  easy.  They  are  proud  of  the 
confidence  reposed  in  them — e.g.  of  being  made  monitory — 


2G8  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

little  knowing  tliat  they  are  being  converted  from  leaders 
of  the  rebels  into  active  supporters  of  the  government. 

(2)  Suggestion  and  Suggestibility. — The  word  "  sug- 
gestion "  is  used  with  varying  meanings,  even  in 
psychology.  It  is  sometimes  used  to  indicate  the  recall  of 
something  to  mind.  We  have  seen,  in  dealing  with 
memory,  that  one  thing  often  recalls  or  "  suggests " 
another  which  has  become  connected  with  it  in  the  mind. 

This  is  not  the  meaning  dealt  with  here.  Suggestion 
in  the  present  instance  is  the  name  given  to  the  process 
whereby  one  person  is  led  to  believe  something,  and 
often  to  act  upon  it,  without  any  definite  grounds  for 
his  belief,  but  merely  on  the  statement,  or  under  the 
influence,  of  some  other  person.  Or,  to  use  McDougall's 
words,  "  Suggestion  is  a  process  of  communication,  result- 
ing in  the  acceptance  vnth  conviction  of  the  communicated 
jjrojiosition  in  the  absence  of  logically  adequate  grounds  for 
its  accejitance.'''  ^  The  phenomenon  has  been  noticed  most 
definitely  in  abnormal  cases,  such  as  in  hypnosis.  But 
we  all  have  some  suggestibility,  i.e.  an  innate  tendency  to 
believe  what  we  are  told,  or  what  is  otherwise  indicated 
to  us  by  certain  persons.  The  degree  of  suggestibility 
varies  from  one  individual  to  another,  and  in  the  same 
individual  at  different  times.  Persons  in  whom  the 
instinct  of  subjection  is  much  stronger  than  that  of 
self-assertion  have  usually  great  suggestibility.  But 
most  of  us  experience  subjection  when  under  the  influence 
of  certain  persons  or  institutions.  We  all  t«nd  to  accept 
a  great  deal  without  challenge  on  accovxnt  of  the  impressive 
character  of  the  source  of  the  suggestion. 

Tliis  kind  of  suggestion  is  called  prestige  suggestion.^ 
Connected  with  it  is  the  fact  that  in  many  subjects  our 
knowledge  is  deficient,  or  poorly  organised,  so  that  we  are 
only  too  ready  to  accept  the  ipse  dixit  of  some  great 
authority.  As  we  have  already  noted  in  dealing  with  the 
instinct  of  sul)jection,  children  are  normally  in  this  position 
with  respect  to  adults,  especially  with  respect  to  those  to 
whom  they  naturally  look  up — their  j^arents  and  teachers. 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit.,  p.  97. 


'i-HE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  269 

And  these  have  a  right  to  use  the  suggestibility  of  chilclreu 
in  the  interests  of  morality,  impressing  precepts  and 
maxims  upon  their  minds  long  before  they  can  arrive  at 
the  stage  when  reason  can  be  appealed  to  in  any  great 
degree. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  person  who 
wishes  to  exert  this  power  over  the  children  must  be  highly 
respected.  The  man  of  weak  personality  can  do  far  less 
in  this  respect  than  the  strong  teacher.  Indeed,  he  some- 
times produces  an  effect  which  is  quite  the  reverse  of  what 
he  intends.  For  there  is  such  a  tliiug  as  contra-suggestion. 
When  the  boys  do  not  feel  the  superiority  of  the  teacher, 
their  self-assertiveness  may  take  the  form  of  believing 
or  asserting  the  direct  contrary  of  his  teaching.  Unless 
a  man  has  great  personal  influence  over  his  boys,  it  is 
often  dangerous  for  him  to  attempt  to  preach  very  much. 
Boys,  especially  older  ones,  have  an  aversion  to  this  kind 
of  thing.  For  this  reason  Mr.  Keatinge  advises  the 
introduction  of  suggestions  in  most  cases  in  an  indirect 
fashion.  He  advocates  a  surreptitious  presentation  of  the 
needed  suggestions  in  connection  with  the  ordinary  work, 
embodied  as  it  were  in  the  matter  which  the  boys  are 
studying  appai-ently  for  another  purpose.  He  tells  us 
that  "  new  ideas  can  be  introduced  so  discreetly  that  no 
reaction  is  aroused,  that  sleeping  dogs  can  be  let  lie,  and 
the  subject  remain  sublimely  unconscious  that  he  is  being 
'  got  at.'  "  ' 

A  suggestion  is  usually  better  than  a  command. 
Although  the  former  is  as  far  from  giving  a  reason  as 
the  latter,  it  nevertheless  appeals  to  the  child's  initiative. 
And  it  cultivates  a  better  relationship  between  teacher  and 
child  than  a  continual  attitude  of  command.  "  Certainly 
there  are  occasions,  especially  in  early  life,  when  definite 
command  alone  is  adequate  to  meet  the  situation.  Equally 
certain  is  it  that  suggestion  should  be  increasingly  the 
rule,  command  more  and  more  the  exception  as  the  child 
increases    in    intelligence,    foresight,    and   self-control."  - 

'   Keatinge,  Snr/(/exlio7i  in  Educalion,  pp.  76,  77. 
^  Weltxjn,  The  Psychology  of  Education,  \).  162. 


270  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

But  as  this  occurs,  suggestion  should  gradually  change 
into  advice,  in  which  reasonable  grounds  are  more  and 
more  incorporated.  In  this  way,  the  child  is  imperceptibly 
led  from  the  stage  of  obedience  to  command,  which  implies 
control  from  tvifhout,  to  a  more  and  more  complete 
direction  of  his  own  actions,  i.e.  to  control  from  loithin. 

While  suggestion  is  a  worthy  instrument  in  certain 
subjects,  it  must  not  be  abused.  In  science,  history, 
geography,  arithmetic,  and  even  to  a  large  extent  in 
literature,  the  teacher's  chief  aim  should  be  to  induce  the 
children  to  investigate  and  to  come  to  conclusions  for 
themselves.  They  should  not  be  led  to  adopt  an  attitude 
of  passive  acceptance  of  all  that  their  teacher  tells  them. 

Many  teachers  are  continually  abusing  this  power  of 
suggestion  without  being  in  any  way  conscious  of  their 
error.  In  the  field  of  questioning  it  can  be  abused  in  two 
Avays — (1)  by  suggesting  wrong  answers  in  cases  where 
the  children  would  probably  obtain  the  right  ones,  if  left 
to  themselves,  and  (2)  by  suggesting  right  answers  which 
have  the  appearance  of  proceeding  from  the  children's 
reflexion,  but  which  are  really  due  to  the  teacher's  "  lead." 

With  respect  to  the  first  of  these  errors,  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  some  conscientious  teachers  are  too  prone  to 
inveigling  children  into  the  wrong  course  of  thought,  and 
then  "  rounding  on  "  them  and  upbraiding  them  for  allow- 
ing themselves  to  be  thus  influenced.  They  assume  that, 
if  the  children  are  in  possession  of  the  right  ideas  on  a 
given  subject,  they  should  be  proof  against  all  attempts 
to  lead  them  astray.  In  other  words,  such  people 
postulate  in  the  children  that  firm  hold  of  truth  which  is 
only  to  be  expected  in  the  case  of  the  experienced,  confident, 
and  well-trained  man  of  science.  They  forget  that  the 
same  ascendency  which  they  are  only  too  willing  to  exert 
over  the  children's  minds  in  c[uestions  of  morals  and  taste 
will  maintain  its  sway  through  all  matters  in  which  they 
choose  to  employ  it.  By  all  means  let  us  try  to  develop 
independence  of  thought  in  children.  But  let  us  remem- 
ber that  their  hold  of  truth  is  feeble,  that  they  can  easily 
be  shaken  off,  and  that  it  is  therefore  usually  best  to  avoid 
disturbing   them    when   they   are    on    the    right    track. 


•  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  271 

Teachers  of  the  kind  referred  to  would  do  well  to  try 
some  such  experiments  as  the  following. 

Show  the  class  the  portrait  of  a  man  without  any  hat 
on.  Grive  only  a  few  moments  for  the  examination  of  it. 
Then  remove  it  from  observation  and  ask  :  "  Had  he  a  straw 
hat,  a  howler  hat,  or  a  liigli  hat?"  Let  the  expression 
and  tone  imply  that  it  ivas  one  of  the  three.  Require 
each  child  to  ivrite  his  answer.  (If  a  sharp  and  bold- 
minded  boy  were  by  chance  to  answer  orally  :  "  He  had  no 
hat  at  all,"  many  of  the  others  would  pluck  up  courage, 
and  likewise  answer  according  to  their  own  observation.) 
It  will  probably  be  found  that  many  of  the  children  will 
state  definitely  that  there  was  some  kind  of  hat,  and  will 
end  by  being  persuaded  that  they  actually  saw  it.  If, 
however,  the  question  asked  were,  "  Had  he  a  hat  on  ?  " 
many  more  boys  would  give  the  correct  answer.  (This 
might  be  tried  in  another  class  under  similar  conditions). 
Similar  errors  can  be  obtained  by  drawing  two  circles  of 
equal  size  on  the  blackboard,  and  writing  a  large  number 
in  one,  a  small  one  in  the  other,  thus — Qi)  (§9).  If  the 
circles  are  not  too  close  together,  so  that  their  similarity  in 
size  is  not  over-conspicuous,  it  will  be  found  that  the 
large  number  suggests  in  a  good  many  cases  a  superiority 
in  the  size  of  the  circle  containing  it. 

As  to  the  second  error,  that  of  suggesting  right  answers 
instead  of  requiring  the  children  to  arrive  at  them  by 
independent  thought,  this  is  all  too  common.  The  leading 
question  is  not  confined  to  the  law  courts.  Elliptical 
questions — i.e.  statements  which  only  require  an  obvious 
word  or  two  to  complete  them — are  extremely  rife.  Thus 
the  teacher  says  :  "  Alfred  fought  against  the  Danes  until 
they  were  glad  to  ask  for  .  .  .  .  ?  "  and  gets  some  such 
answer  as  "  Peace  "  from  the  children.  But  perhaps  the 
most  common  form  of  leading  question  is  that  requirino- 
"  Yes  "  or  "  No  "  for  an  answer,  and  indicating  more  or 
less  clearly  by  its  form,  or  the  tone  in  which  it  is  uttered, 
which  of  the  two  words  is  exj^ected.  Even  when  no  very 
definite  indication  is  given,  such  questions  should  not  be 
very  frequent,  since  at  the  best  they  tempt  the  child  to 
guess.     For  he  knows  that  he  is  as  likely  to  be  right  as 


272  THE    INSTINCTS   AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

wrong.  And  he  is  usually  ready  to  take  a  sporting 
chance. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that  the  answers 
"Yes"  and  "No"  are  always  to  be  avoided.  Often  the 
child  may  know  that,  whichever  answer  he  gives,  he  will 
be  required  to  state  his  reasons.  Under  such  circum- 
stances the  question  will  really  stimulate  thought. 
Further,  there  are  often  other  justifications  for  leading 
questions  of  all  kinds.  The  object  of  a  question  is  some- 
times merely  to  secure  a  little  more  attention.  And  this 
is  often  necessary  with  young  children.  The  requiring  of 
an  immediate  and  easy  response — sometimes  even  a  col- 
lective one— is  often  a  good  means  of  bringing  stragglers 
to  order  without  friction.  It  is  therefore  to  be  observed 
that  no  absolute  rules  with  respect  to  the  nature  of  ques- 
tions and  their  answers  can  be  framed.  Almost  any  kind 
of  question  or  answer  may  be  justified  by  special  circum- 
stances. The  essential  thing,  here  as  elsewhere,  is  to 
imderstaud  the  general  principles,  and  then  to  use  one's 
discretion  in  applying  them  in  any  given  conditions. 

(3)  Imitation. — The  tendency  to  imitate  the  actions  or 
bodily  movements  of  others  has  been  called  b}^  many 
writers  an  instinct.  But  it  has  no  special  emotion,  nor 
any  characteristic  action,  and  is  therefore  best  described 
as  an  innate  tendency.  There  are  various  degrees  of 
complexity  in  the  form  which  the  tendency  takes.  The 
simplest  is  the  copying  of  actions  expressive  of  emotion. 
This  has  already  been  noted  under  "  sympathy."  A  higher 
form  is  that  in  which  we  definitely  note  the  action  of 
others  and  then  find  ourselves  imitating  them,  though  not 
with  very  deliberate  intention.  The  idea  of  the  action  in 
our  minds  issues  in  the  corresponding  movement.  When 
the  imitation  is  definitely  deliberate,  as  when  we  decide 
to  copy  some  model  which  we  admii'e,  the  highest  form  is 
reached. 

Imitation  is  the  way  in  which  we  acquire  skill  in  many 
departments  of  activity.  In  speech,  gymnastics,  writing, 
drawing,  and  general  deportment,  as  well  as  in  sports  and 
playful  activities,  it  is  the  predominant  factor.  The  chief 
recommendation  to  make  is  that  the  models  should   be 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  273 

good,  and  slaoiild  be  clearly  presented  to  tlie  cliildren. 
The  teacher  should  always  bear  in  mind  that  his  actions 
are  being  watched,  often  more  carefully  than  he  imagines, 
by  his  pupils,  and  that  the  necessity  of  setting  a  good 
example  in  all  the  details  of  his  procedure  is  paramount. 

(4)  Play. — "  Shut  a  boy  up  in  a  room  to  keep  him  out 
of  mischief,  and  if  he  has  no  opportunity  to  climb  or  to 
use  the  furnitui'e  for  constructive  purposes,  or  to  use  his 
hands  in  any  way  in  making  or  drawing  or  destroying, 
then  his  energies  will  escape  through  his  vocal  organs,  or 
he  will  simply  pound  on  the  floor  or  walls  or  turn  somer- 
saults." ^  In  other  words,  the  healthy  child  has  a  tendency 
to  piny. 

Different  explanations  have  been  given  of  this  tendency. 
According  to  Spencer,  it  is  due  to  a  surplus  of  nervous 
energy.  There  is  some  truth  in  this.  All  healthy  children 
must  be  active,  must  be  doing  something.  And  from  this 
point  of  view,  the  tendency  to  play  may  be  called  a 
general  tendency  to  movement.  But  this  does  not  seem  to 
explain  all.  For  children  and  animals  will  continue  to 
play  till  they  are  quite  tired.  Others  maintain  that  there 
is  an  inherited  tendency  to  repeat  the  actions  of  our 
ancestors,  to  traverse  once  again  the  various  stages  of 
activity  through  which  the  race  has  passed.  There  seems 
to  be  little  foundation  for  this.  Professor  Karl  Groos 
considers  that  play  forms  a  preparation  for  after  life,  that 
the  various  instincts  arise  and  exercise  themselves  during 
childhood  so  that  they  are  ready  for  more  serious  matters 
when  the  demands  of  real  life  are  made.  This  seems  to 
contain  some  truth.  But  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the 
instinctive  actions  performed  are  not  of  exactly  the  same 
kind  as  those  of  adult  life.  Young  dogs  will  play  at 
fighting  without  hurting  one  another.  They  seem,  then, 
to  have  a  modified  form  of  the  combative  instinct. 

A  motive  which  often  co-operates  with  others  in  play, 
and  which  in  human  l)eings  is  seldom  lacking,  is  the  desire 
to  get  the  better  of  others,  to  emulate  them.  This  is  a 
most  important  element  in  such  games  as  chess,  tennis, 

'  O'Shea,  Dynamic  Factors  in  Education,  p.  4. 

FUND.  PSY.  18 


274  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

cricket,  football.  It  is  often  referred  to  as  a  distinct 
elementary  instinct,  but  it  is  most  probably  derived  from 
some  of  those  instincts  already  described.  It  contains 
something  of  the  instinct  of  self-assertion,  but  still  more 
of  the  combative  instinct.  The  latter  seems  to  be  its 
chief  ingredient,  though  in  a  somewhat  modified  fonn. 
McDougall  suggests  that  this  impulse  of  rivalry  is  a 
differentiated  fonn  of  the  combative  instinct,  probably 
evolved  in  the  animal  world  to  secure  practice  in  the 
movements  of  combat.  Professor  James  tells  us  that  it 
springs  out  of  imitation.  This  is  true.  But  imitation 
alone  cannot  account  for  it.  We  begin  by  imitating  others. 
We  go  on  to  emulation  of  them.  And  in  this  the  instincts 
of  self-display  and  of  pugnacity  must  be  recognised  as 
important  factors. 

The  peculiarity  of  this  impulse  to  emulate  is  that, 
unlike  many  other  innate  tendencies,  it  increases  in  force 
and  in  the  field  of  its  operation  Avith  the  growth  of  self- 
consciousness.  It  often  comes  to  be  the  dominant  motive 
in  life.  We  strive  to  "  go  one  better  "  than  our  colleagues. 
"So  we  have  the  paradox  of  a  man  shamed  to  death 
because  he  is  only  the  second  pugilist  or  the  second 
oarsman  in  the  world.  That  he  is  able  to  beat  the  whole 
population  of  the  globe  minus  one  is  nothing ;  he  has 
'  pitted '  himself  to  beat  that  one ;  and  as  long  as  he 
doesn't  do  that  nothing  else  counts."  ^  Professor  James, 
indeed,  is  so  much  impressed  with  the  importance  of  this 
tendency  to  rivalry  that  he  says :  "  Nine-tenths  of  the 
work  of  the  world  is  done  by  it."  ■  This  is  possibly 
an  exaggerated  statement.  It  sei'ves,  however,  to  call 
attention  to  the  extreme  importance  of  emulation  as  a 
motive,  and  will  justify  us  in  dealing  more  fully  with  this 
matter  presently. 

The  teacher  must  recognise  the  need  of  play  in  the 
young.  Play  is,  of  coiu-se,  a  form  of  recreation.  But  it  is 
more  than  that.  To  the  very  yoimg  child  it  is  everything. 
And  the  early  lessons  in  the  infant  schools  appeal  to  it 

^  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  310. 
=  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  409. 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    TNNATE    TENDENCIES.  275 

continually.  The  teacher,  however,  gradually  requires  the 
children  to  control  themselves,  and  to  give  attention  to 
many  things  to  which  they  would  never  attend  sponta- 
neously. 

But  even  when  the  more  serious  work  is  in  progress, 
something  of  the  spirit  of  play  may  still  be  aroused :  the 
impulse  to  rivalry  can  be  utilised.  Competitions  of 
various  kinds  introduce  a  new  life  into  many  of  the 
repetitions  and  exercises  which  are  necessary  to  progress, 
but  which  are  very  dull  in  themselves.  It  might  be 
objected  that  if  competition  becomes  too  keen,  there  is 
danger  of  envy  and  hatred  ;  and  further,  that  the  boys  who 
always  get  beaten  must  soon  lose  hejirt.  But  competitions 
need  not  always  be  between  boy  and  boy.  Section  can  be 
pitted  against  section,  class  against  class.  Lastly  a  boy 
can  be  induced  to  emulate  himself.  From  time  to  time, 
he  should  be  led  to  compare  his  work  of  the  present  with 
that  of  the  past,  he  should  be  praised  for  improvement, 
and  incited  to  progress  still  more  in  the  future. 

The  spirit  of  emulation  is  perhaps  more  widely  utilised  in 
French  schools  than  in  English  ones.  This  is  possibly  due 
to  the  influence  of  the  Jesuits,  whose  scholastic  institutions 
were,  for  a  long  time,  more  efficient  than  any  others. 
It  is  true  that  with  these  teachers  rivalry  was  carried  to 
inordinate  extremes.  Often  each  boy  was  definitely  pitted 
against  another,  and  required  to  concentrate  all  his  efforts 
upon  beating  him,  so  that  the  element  of  play  was  over- 
whelmed by  a  spirit  of  bitter  competition — envy,  hatred 
and  malice  being  thereby  fostered.  But  these  vices  are 
almost  completely  avoided  in  the  present  day.  In  the  first 
place,  each  boy  is  not  incited  to  beat  a  special  rival,  but  to 
work  for  the  honour  of  himself,  his  class,  and  his  school. 

In  most  classes  in  French  elementary  schools  there 
exists  a  cahier  de  roulement  (circulating  exercise  book). 
This  is  used  in  turn  by  each  l)oy  in  the  class  for  one  day, 
in  place  of  his  ordinary  exercise  book.  At  the  end  of  two 
or  three  months  this  colder  has  thus  passed  completely 
round  the  class,  and  contains  a  specimen  of  the  work  of 
each  boy.  It  is  often  asked  for  by  the  Inspector,  as  an 
indication  of  what  the  class  can  do,     The  boy  who  holds 


276  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

it  ou  any  given  day  cannot  fail  to  experience  a  strong 
impulse  to  do  his  best,  both  for  his  own  reputation  and 
for  that  of  the  class.  (And  when  he  has  thus  produced 
good  work,  this  can  be  used  as  a  standard  whereby  his 
further  work  in  his  own  particular  book  can  be  judged.) 

The  idea  of  emulating  himself  is  more  particularly 
inspii'ed  in  the  boy  by  the  cahier  de  devoirs  mensuels 
(monthly  exercise  book).  Each  boy  has  one  of  these,  and 
it  is  given  to  him  once  a  month  for  the  purpose  of  one 
exercise.  The  pages  are  carefully  numbered,  in  order  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  bad  work  being  torn  out.  As 
the  months  and  years  pass,  there  grows  up  a  collection  of 
tasks  done  by  the  boy  at  regular  intervals.  And  it  is,  of 
course,  expected  that  definite  progress  shall  be  shown  from 
mouth  to  month,  and  from  year  to  year. 

A  similar  object  is  sometimes  striven  for  in  connection 
with  the  fortnightly  reports  on  the  boys  which  many  schools 
send  to  the  parents.  A  small  book  for  a  whole  year's 
reports  is  usually  printed.  And  this  has  sometimes  a 
table  giving  a  summary  of  the  marks  [for  punctuality, 
regularity,  conduct  and  work  in  school,  home  lessons  and 
weekly  examinations  (one  subject  being  usually  tested  each 
week)]  for  the  whole  period.  The  table  is  so  arranged 
that  the  position  of  a  dot  indicates  the  degree  of  excellence 
attained  each  fortnight.  By  joining  the  dots  a  "  curve  " 
is  produced,  which  indicates  progress  or  retardation 
according  as  it  rises  or  falls.  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to 
add  that  these  records  can,  at  any  rate  in  the  case  of  the 
upper  classes,  be  made  by  the  pvipils  themselves,  under  the 
supervision  of  the  teacher.  Fig.  19  gives  a  portion  of 
the  actual  record  of  a  good  pupil,  the  maximum  marks 
obtainable  being  30  for  each  fortnight. 

(5)  As  already  hinted,  the  tendency  to  play  is  closely 
connected  with,  and  cannot  be  definitely  differentiated 
from,  that  general  tendency  to  he  doitig  something  which 
characterises  all  healthy  human  beings.  Conation  is  not 
only  dependent  on  a  healthy  body  full  of  life  and  vigour, 
but  the  latter  necessarily  implies  the  former,  though  the 
directions  which  the  conations  take  may  be  extremely 
varied.     It  is  doubtful,  indeed,  whether  the  usual  meaning 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 


277 


of  the  term  laziness  has  any  foundation  in  fact.  This  term 
either  implies  that  the  boy  or  girl  in  question  is  deficient 
in  health  and  vigour,  being  of  a  specially  weak  or  sluggish 
physical  constitution,  or  it  must  mean  that  the  individual 


WHAT  I  HAVE  BEEN  WORTH  UP  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 


Total 
Marks. 

Oct. 

Nov. 

Dec. 

Jan. 

Feb. 

Mar. 

1st 

•2n(I 

1st 

2nd 

1st 

2n(l 

1st 

2ncl 

1st 

■2w\ 

1st 

2iid 

30 

29 

28 

K 

r 

- 

27 

r 

\ 

A 

r 

^ 

26 

\ 

1 

V 

\ 

v/ 

1 

25 

\ 

V 

24 

\ 

J 

23 

V 

22 

Fig.  19. 

has  conations  in  other  directions,  but  not  along  the  lines 
proposed  by  the  teacher.  This  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
many  of  the  pupils  termed  "  lazy  "  in  school  are  extremely 
active  outside.  And  the  obvious  remedy  in  school  is  to 
modify  the  methods,  and  sometimes  the  matter,  so  that 


278  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCtllS. 

appeal  is  made  to  some  of  the  instincts  and  innate  tendencies 
of  these  pupils.  "  Good  teaching  so  arranges  the  work  of 
the  school  that  a  wide  range  of  capacities  may  be  utilised, 
and  that  instinctive  activities  and  interests  may  make  for 
intellectual  and  moral  progress.  Good  teaching  expects 
and  adapts  itself  to  wide  individual  differences  in  original 
nature."^ 

The  most  general  modification  which  can  be  proposed  is 
that  the  methods  should  include  more  hoclily  activity  on 
the  part  of  the  pupils  than  has  been  the  case  in  most 
schools  up  to  the  present  time.  For  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  tendency  to  bodily  movement  is  much  stronger  in  the 
young  than  the  impulse  to  follow  trains  of  thought. 
Early  childhood,  indeed,  is  the  time  for  obtaining  by 
means  of  bodily  activity  a  large  amount  of  perceptual 
experience,  the  results  and  traces  of  which  form  the  basis 
of  the  more  purely  intellectual  activity  of  later  life. 

It  is,  fiu'ther,  to  be  observed  that  attention  is  always 
supported  by  bodily  movement.  Even  in  reflection  on 
the  most  abstract  subjects,  there  is  some  activity  in  the 
muscles  (contraction  of  the  brows,  shght  movements  of 
the  organs  of  speech,  and  often  more  or  less  definite 
habitual  motion  of  one  or  more  of  the  limbs).  Some, 
indeed,  cannot  think  deeply  unless  they  are  making  very 
definite  bodily  movements,  more  or  less  in  harmony  with 
their  thoughts,  e.g.  writing  down  sentences  or  sketching 
diagrammatic  representations  of  their  schemes  of  thought. 
And  if  this  is  the  case  with  many  adults,  how  much  more 
is  it  necessary  with  young  children,  who  have  a  still  greater 
propensity  for  bodily  movement !  Hence  it  is  important, 
even  apart  from  the  necessity  of  approaching  much  of  the 
early  school  Avork  in  the  "  play  "'  spirit,  to  see  that  a  great 
deal  of  manual  activity  is  interwoven  with  the  more  purely 
intellectual  work.  And  the  more  closely  it  is  connected 
with  that  intellectual  work,  the  moi*e  readily  will  it  support 
the  attention  to  the  ideas  in  question.  A  child,  for  instance, 
who  is  in  the  early  stages  of  reading,  will  attend  to  the 
printed  words  more  closely  when  he  is  required  to  sort  out 

^  Tliorndike,  The  Principles  of  Teachiny,  p.  34 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  279 

tliose  words  (printed  on  slips  of  paper)  in  order  to  form 
certain  sentences.  For  he  cannot  carry  out  liis  manual 
occupation  correctly  without  close  attention  to  the  words 
in  question.  A  boy  who  undertakes  the  weighing  and 
measuring  of  various  articles  is  certain  to  appreciate  the 
weights  and  measures  involved  more  definitely  than  one  who 
merely  looks  on,  and  still  more  than  another  who  merely 
listens  to  a  verbal  explanation  of  the  different  values. 

But  even  apart  from  bodily  movement,  i.e.  in  the  field 
of  intelligence  itself,  we  can  still  speak  of  doing.  Children 
have  a  general  tendency  to  mental  as  well  as  to  hodily 
activity,  though,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  difiicult  to  separate 
the  two.  And  it  is  important  to  ensure  that  they  really 
have  something  to  engage  their  thoughts.  Often  the 
teacher  grinds  over  old  ideas  which  excite  little  intellectual 
activity.  Or  he  goes  to  the  other  extreme  of  plunging  the 
pupils  into  new  fields  of  ideas  for  which  they  are  not  pre- 
pared by  their  previously  acquired  knowledge,  and  with 
which  they  can  consequently  "  do  "  little  or  nothing.  If 
only  he  can  hit  the  proper  mean  between  the  known  and 
the  unknown,  the  teacher  is  almost  certain  to  obtain  the 
co-operation  of  his  pupils  in  the  work  proposed.  For  their 
naturally  active  minds  will,  in  default  of  other  attractions, 
set  to  work  on  anything  which  provides  real  opportunities 
for  progressive  thought.  The  process  of  understanding 
may  be  fairly  difiicult,  but,  if  it  goes  forward  successfully 
it  is  distinctly  pleasurable,  and  the  pleasure  produced 
awakens  further  conation  to  reinforce  the  activity. 

(6)  The  last  remark  reminds  us  once  again  of  the  most 
general  tendency  of  all — the  tendency  to  seek  pleasiive  and 
to  avoid iKmi.  Professor  Thorndike  in  one  place'  includes 
this  among  the  instinctive  tendencies,  as  if  it  were  co-oi*di- 
nate  with  them.  But  it  is  of  such  generality,  entering  as 
it  does  into  all  mental  processes,  and  tending  to  further 
or  to  inhibit  them  according  as  pleasure  or  pain  is  produced, 
that  we  must  consider  it  not  as  a  tendency  which  may  or 
may  not  ])e  in  operation  at  a  given  moment,  but  rather  as 
a  condition  affecting  all  mental  activity.     We  have  already 

'  'J'lionidike,  MemciUs  of  Pnij(:]wlo<jy,  pp.  309,  310. 


280  THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES. 

seen  in  the  last  chapter  that  it  is  the  basis  of  the  Law  of 
Hedonic  Selection,  and  we  have  also  observed  how  it  is 
utilised  in  reward  and  punishment  as  a  means  of  aiding 
in  the  formation  of  good  habits,  where  the  more  special 
tendencies  are  insuflB.cient  to  support  such  growths.  At 
the  same  time  we  have  noted  that  this  general  tendency  is 
not  to  be  used  in  this  way  as  a  satisfactory  laeans  of 
creating  good  habits  by  itself.  We  should  use  it  as  an  aid 
when  other  tendencies  are  not  strong  enough.  But  we 
must  ensure  that  some  of  those  other  tendencies  will  ulti- 
mately be  modified  and  strengthened  so  that  they  form  a 
secure  basis  for  the  good  habits  in  question.  If  we  do  not 
do  this,  those  habits  will  be  in  danger  of  breaking  down 
when  the  time  comes  for  ceasing  the  artificial  production 
of  pleasure  and  pain  in  the  form  of  reward  and  punish- 
ment ;  in  other  words,  Ave  shall  fail  to  bring  about  the 
development  of  a  self-governing  adult. 

It  must  be  remembered  that,  like  the  other  more  special 
tendencies,  this  general  one  does  not  always  get  its  way. 
It  may  often  be  overwhelmed  by  the  influence  of  some 
special  tendency  which  is  at  the  moment  more  powerful ; 
indeed,  it  is  seldom  that  any  line  of  activity  is  due  entirely 
to  its  agency.  Thus  curiosity,  or  some  other  motive,  may 
be  so  strong  that  a  person  may  approach  and  gaze  upon 
the  results  of  a  fearful  accident,  even  although  the  sight  is 
extremely  distressing. 

It  is  conceivable — though  by  no  means  certain — that  in 
the  long  course  of  evolution  this  general  tendency  has  given 
rise  to  all  the  other  (now)  innate  tendencies  and  instincts. 
The  Law  of  Hedonic  Selection,  the  operation  of  which  we 
can  trace  during  the  life  of  a  given  individual,  modifying 
the  various  tendencies  which  already  exist  innately,  may 
be  of  far  more  extensive  influence,  i.e.  it  may  not  only 
oi^erate  during  the  life  of  each  individual,  but  it  may 
have  gradually  evoked  and  strengthened  all  the  more 
special  tendencies  during  the  countless  ages  of  animal 
development.  Its  products,  however,  have  grown  so 
strong  under  its  fostering  care  that  very  frequently  now 
(i.e.  at  the  present  stage  of  evolution)  any  one  of  them 
may  be  so  powerful  as  to  run  counter  to  it,  to  overwhelm 


THE    INSTINCTS    AND    INNATE    TENDENCIES.  281 

it,  and  thus  to  obsciire  its  existence.     But  in  tlie  long  run 
all  are  influenced  by  its  sway. 

We  liave  now  taken  note  of  the  chief  instincts  and  innate 
tendencies  which  constitute  the  mainspring  of  life.  It 
remains  to  give  some  account  of  the  complex  Avays  in  which 
they  become  organised  as  develoj^ment  progresses.  This 
will  form  the  subject  of  the  next  chapter. 


Questions  on  Chaptek  XII. 

1.  What  do  you  understand  by  the  terms  instinct  and  emotion''. 
What  is  the  relation  between  the  two  ? 

2.  Enumerate  the  principal  instincts,  and  describe  one  of  them. 

3.  What  should  be  the  attitude  of  the  teacher  with  respect  to  the 
instincts  of  children  ?  Illustrate  your  answer  by  dealing  fully  with 
one  of  these  instincts. 

4.  What  do  you  understand  by  an  innate  tendency  as  distinguished 
from  an  instinct  ? 

5.  Explain  what  is  meant  by  the  "sympathy  of  numbers,"  and 
indicate  what  use  the  teacher  should  make  of  it. 

6.  Define  stigije-stion  as  a  mode  of  imparting  truth.  In  which 
subjects  should  it  be  employed,  and  in  which  should  it  be  avoided? 

7.  Show  how  the  emulation  of  the  boys  can  be  excited  and  made 
of  service  in  («)  arithmetic  and  {h)  physical  exercises. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


The  Nature  and  Development   of   the   Sentiments. 

In  tlie  early  stages  of  human  life  we  notice  more  or 
less  definite  instinctive  actions  and  the  emotions  corre- 
sponding to  them,  as  well  as  various  innate  tendencies, 
evoked  by  different  kinds  of  objects.  Thus  the  young 
child  shows  anger  when  he  cannot  get  or  do  what  he 
wants,  fear  when  something  overwhelmingly  strange 
appears,  cui'iosity  when  the  strange  object  is  not  too  un- 
familiar, imitation  and  primitive  sympathy  in  connection 
with  the  actions  and  emotional  expressions  of  others. 

These  more  or  less  distinct  tendencies  are  soon  com- 
bined in  various  ways,  one  single  object  evoking  more 
than  one  instinct  at  the  same  time.  Thus,  at  the  sight  of 
a  snake  or  a  toad,  the  child  may  show  loathing,  which 
seems  to  be  a  combination  of  /'ear  and  disgust ;  at  the  sight 
of  a  tall  man  riding  a  horse,  he  may  show  admiration, 
which  is  probably  a  combination  of  wonder  and  negative 
self-feeling ;  at  the  sight  of  a  troop  of  soldiers  dashing 
along  on  horseback,  he  may  show  awe,  which  is  admira- 
tion blended  with /ear. 

Such  combinations  of  instincts  are  connected  with  more 
ideational  pi'ocesses  as  the  child  grows  wiser.  Thus, 
loathing  may  be  evoked  by  the  mean  conduct  of  another 
boy,  admiration  by  the  sight  of  an  acrobatic  performance, 
awe  in  the  presence  of  the  headmaster  of  the  school. 

But  certain  objects  which  frequently  excite  one  or  more 
emotions  become  so  closely  associated  with  them  that 
directly  they  are  presented,  or  even  when  the  image  or 
idea  of  them  occurs,  they  throw  the  mind  into  the 
emotional  attitude  in  question.     The  object  becomes  the 

282 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.     283 

centre  of  an  emotion,  or  of  a  system  of  emotions.  Such 
an  organised  system  of  emotional  tendencies  is  called  a 
sentiment.  A  sentiment  may  begin  its  life  in  a  very 
simple  form,  consisting  merely  of  one  emotional  dis- 
position connected  with  a  given  object.  But  in  many 
cases  other  emotional  dispositions,  more  or  less  definitely 
connected  with  the  first,  grow  up  around  the  object  or  its 
idea,  and  constitute  a  more  complex  sentiment. 

Suppose  that  a  child  is  placed  under  a  violent- 
tempered  teacher,  who  is  uusympatlietic  and  indiiferent 
to  the  child,  and  who  is  constantly  threatening,  scolding, 
and  perhaps  beating  him.  At  first  the  child  is  thrown 
into  a  distinct  state  of  fear  at  each  violent  act  or  speech 
of  the  teacher.  But  repetition  soon  creates  a  habit  of  fear, 
so  that  whenever  the  child  sees  the  teacher,  or  eveu  thinks 
of  him,  he  becomes  timorous,  although  there  may  be  no 
present  reason  for  fear. 

A  simple  sentiment  such  as  this  will  readily  develop,  in- 
corporating or  becoming  associated  with  other  emotional 
dispositions.  Thus  the  child's  anger  may  be  frequently 
evoked  by  the  harsh  punishments  and  restrictions  of  the 
unsympathetic  teacher.  Disgust  and  the  spirit  of  revenge 
may  soon  follow.  These  various  dispositions  become  more 
and  more  intimately  connected  witli  the  object,  which 
tends  to  excite  them  all  at  once,  or  in  turn,  whenever  it  is 
presented,  eitlier  in  reality  or  as  an  idea.  The  rudi- 
mentary sentiment  of  fear  of  the  teacher  has  developed 
into  the  full-blown  sentiment  of  hatred  of  that  individual. 

It  is  obvious  that  similar  sentiments  may  grow  up  about 
the  ideas  of  other  individuals  or  institutions.  Thus  some 
children  develop  an  intense  hatred  of  school,  or  of  some 
particular  branch  of  school  activity.  Sometimes  this 
sentiment  originates  with  the  teacher,  in  the  way  already 
described,  and  spreads  over  to  the  subjects  and  to  the 
institution  in  general ;  sometimes  its  origin  is  rather  the 
way  in  which  the  subjects  are  taught,  and  the  general 
organisation  of  tlie  school,  which  is  badly  adapted  to  the 
child's  nature. 

In  a  similar  way,  an  act  of  kindness  l)y  the  teacher  to 
the  child  may  arouse  gratitude.     This  seems  to  be  a  com- 


284      NATTTKE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

bination  of  tender-emotion  and  negative  seK-feeling,  the 
former  being  evoked  in  the  child  bj  primary  sympathy 
(for  the  teacher  is  the  first  to  sliow  the  tender  emotion, 
while  the  child  responds  sympathetically).  This  is  merely 
a  complex  emotion,  and  may  occur  only  once.  But,  if  the 
teacher  repeats  his  kindly  acts,  the  gratitude  of  the  child 
may  become  habitual,  and  may  come  to  constitute  an 
emotional  disposition  always  ready  to  be  excited  by  the 
presence  or  by  the  idea  of  the  teacher.  Further,  other 
instinctive  tendencies  may  be  aroused  in  connection  with 
the  object.  The  child's  tender  emotion  may  lead  him  to 
bring  the  teacher  flowers,  or  to  offer  him  some  service. 
He  takes  pride  in  doing  these  things,  his  instinct  of  self- 
display  is  aAvakened,  and  a  permanent  disposition  to  seek 
the  approbation  of  his  teacher  may  develop.  His  deep 
interest  in  his  teacher  may  involve  imitation  of  his  acts 
where  this  is  possible,  .sympathy  with  his  emotions,  and  a 
high  suggestibility  to  the  ideas  wdiich  he  communicates. 
There  may  thus  grow  up  in  the  child  a  complex  sentiment, 
founded  largely  on  the  tender-emotion,  and  usually  known 
as  love.  Such  a  sentiment  as  this,  modified  by  other 
elements,  and  variously  adapted  to  the  different  circum- 
stances, may  develop  in  connection  with  other  objects  and 
institutions. 

The  sympathy  aroused  l>etween  the  teacher  and  the 
child  in  the  instance  just  examined  is  of  a  higher  order 
than  the  primitive  sympathy  on  which  it  is  based.  Each 
party  not  only  tends  to  experience  the  emotions  displayed 
by  the  other,  but  has  a  craving  for  the  other  to  shai*e  his 
own  emotions.  This  more  complex  relation  is  called  by 
McDougall  active  syvqmthy.  It  reaches  its  most  complete 
form  in  affection  between  equals.  Only  in  so  far  as  the 
child  becomes  a  friend  of  the  teacher  is  it  highly  developed. 

This  sharing  of  emotions  by  another  individual  seems 
to  increase  them.  There  is  action  and  reaction.  But 
painful  emotions  are  intensified  in  this  way  as  well  as 
pleasurable  ones.  And  it  seems  difficult  to  account  for 
this  craving  for  active  sympathy  in  all  cases.  McDougall 
thinks  it  is  due  to  the  gregarious  instinct,  which  supple- 
ments each  of   the  special  instincts,  being  aroused  with 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       285 

them  and  rendering  complete  satisfaction  of  their  impulses 
impossible  unless  the  individual  is  surrounded  by  others 
in  a  similar  stat€  of  excitement.  An  animal  in  fear  runs 
to  join  the  herd  before  making  off  in  flight.  He  feels  a 
tendency  to  share  his  emotion  with  others.  The  gregarious 
instinct  thus  leads  to  the  development  of  active  sympathy 
from  the  simpler  primitive  form  already  examined. 

If  this  account  is  correct,  active  sympathy  is  quite  dis- 
tinct from  the  tender  emotion.  The  latter  is  altruistic ; 
the  former  is  eo;oistic.  Some  children  exhibit  this  craving 
for  active  sympathy  in  a  pronounced  form.  They  cannot 
enjoy  things  by  themselves.  They  are  always  calUng  upon 
others  to  share  their  emotions.  "  Oh,  come  and  look  !  "  is 
their  constant  cry  when  anything  excites  them.  Other 
children  (in  whom  the  gregarious  instinct  is  weak)  are 
content  to  amuse  themselves  and  suffer  their  trials  in 
comparative  seclusion.  These  may  be  very  affectionate  to 
those  in  close  contact  wdth  them,  and  they  may  experience 
strong  emotions  of  other  kinds,  but  they  are  not  dra^vn  to 
active  interaction  with  many  others.  A  very  good  example 
from  adult  life  is  "  the  old  woman  on  Snowdon  in  the 
delightful  story  told  by  Mr.  Rowley.  Mr.  Watts  Dunton, 
who  was  ascending  Snowdon,  overtook  her.  She  was 
smoking  a  sliort  cutty  pipe,  and  took  no  notice  of  her 
companion's  eloquent  gushes  at  the  sublimities  around 
them.  At  length  Mr.  Watts  Dunton  said,  '  You  don't 
seem  to  care  for  this  magnificent  scenery.'  Her  reply  was  : 
'I  enjies  it ;  I  don't  jabber.'  "  ' 

Those  who  become  leaders,  both  among  children  and 
among  men,  have  usually  a  pronovmced  tendency  to  active 
sympathy.  He  who  has  it  not,  or  in  whom  it  has 
become  specialised,  so  as  to  be  aroused  only  by  a  few 
intimate  friends,  is  not  likely  to  become  a  leader. 

We  have  now  considered  a  few  types  of  sentiment,  and 
we  have  seen  that  a  large  niimber  may  be  included  under 
the  general  terms  love  and  hate,  though  the  particular 
constitution  of  any  given  case  may  l)e  variously  modified. 

'  C  Lewis  Hind, 'Review  of  Fifty  Years  of  Work  vnthout  Waffes 
in  the  Daily  Chronicle,  Dec.  7t!i,  1011. 


286       NATTTUE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

The  two  terms  we  have  used  characterise  only  the  general 
features  of  many  sentiments,  i.e.  a  large  number  are  cases 
in  which  tender  emotion  is  the  chief  factor,  manifesting 
itself  in  love,  liking,  affection  or  attachment,  while  a  great 
many  others  are  cases  in  which  aversion  (fear  or  disgust) 
is  the  dominant  element,  hate  and  dishke  being  the  usual 
terms  applied.  McDougall  refers  to  a  third  general  class 
in  which  the  self- feeling  plays  the  principal  role  and  which 
may  be  subsumed  under  the  general  name  of  respect. 
Space  will  not  permit  an  analysis  of  these  here. 

But  it  should  be  noted  that  we  may  classify  the 
sentiments  not  only  with  respect  to  the  dominant 
emotional  dispositions  which  enter  into  their  composition, 
but  with  respect  to  the  objects  on  which  they  are  centred, 
or  around  which  they  are  organised.  Thus,  the  same  kind 
of  sentiment  (e.g.  Jove)  may  be  associated  with  objects  of 
varying  complexity.    For  instance,  we  get  love  centred  on — 

(i)   The  concrete  particiilar,  e.g.  love  for  a  child. 
(ii)   The  concrete  general,  e.g.  love  for  children  in  general. 
(iii)  The  more  completely  abstract,  e.g.  love  for  justice  or 

virtue. 

On  the  development  of  the  sentiments  depends  to  alarge 
extent  not  only  the  direction  of  conation,  i.e.  what  the 
individual  will  attend  to  and  what  he  will  do,  but  also,  to 
a  large  extent,  the  feeling  which  he  ^vill  experience,  or,  to 
put  it  in  another  way,  his  affective  life.  We  have  seen  that 
a  great  deal  of  hedonic-tone  is  "  tendency-derived,"  that  is 
to  say,  much  of  our  pleasure  depends  upon  the  fact  that 
our  conations  are  successful,  ancl  much  of  our  pain  is  due 
to  the  obstruction  of  our  conations.  It  is,  therefoi*e,  a 
matter  of  great  importance  what  systems  of  conations 
become  developed  and  organised.  But,  in  addition,  "each 
primary  emotion  seems  to  have  a  certain  intrinsic  feeling- 
tone,  just  as  the  sensations  that  are  synthesised  in 
perception  have  their  feeling-tone,  independently  of  the 
success,  or  lack  of  success,  of  the  perceptual  conation. 
And  the  intrinsic  feeling-tone  seems  to  follow  the  same 
rule  as  that  of  sensations,  namely,  that  with  increase  of 
intensitjy  of  the  emotion  pleasant  tends  to  give  wa^  to  uu- 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OP  THE  SENTIMENTS.       287 

pleasant  feeling-toue ;  so  that,  while  at  moderate  intensities 
some  are  pleasant  and  others  unpleasant,  at  the  highest 
intensity  all  alike  become  unpleasant  or  painful ;  and, 
perhaps,  at  the  lowest  intensity  all  ai'e  pleasant.  .  .  .  Thus 
fear  at  low  intensity  does  but  add  a  pleasurable  zest  to  any 
pursuit,  as  we  see  especially  clearly  in  children,  sports- 
men, and  adventurous  spirits  generally ;  whereas  at  high 
intensity  it  is  the  most  horrible  of  all  experiences."  ^ 

When  we  come  to  consider  the  complex  organisation  of 
a  sentiment,  we  find  that  the  pleasure-pain  produced  is 
not  due  merely  to  the  working  of  one  instinct,  but  to  a 
large  number  of  emotional  dispositions  intricately 
related.  The  total  pleasure  or  pain  produced  seems  to  be 
of  a  higher  kind,  and  is  often  spoken  of  as  joy  or  sorrow. 
If,  however,  we  could  separate  the  feeling  from  the 
complex  circumstances  which  give  rise  to  it,  we  should 
probably  have  to  recognise  it  as  the  same  thing  as  tliat  due 
to  lower  and  more  simple  processes.  Joy  and  sorrow, 
therefore,  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  emotions.  They  are 
aspects  of  complex  states  due  to  the  existence  of  sentiments 
which  include  many  of  the  emotions  already  described,  and 
which  involve  much  pleasure  or  pain  in  connection  with 
the  manner  of  their  excitation.  Just  as  we  often  extend 
the  meaning  of  the  word  j^leasure  or  j^oin  from  the  hedonic 
tone  of  a  state  to  the  whole  state  of  which  it  is  an  aspect, 
so  we  sometimes  specialise  the  meaning  of  joy  or  sorrow 
from  the  whole  complex  of  emotional  excitement  involved 
in  the  activity  of  a  sentiment  to  the  hedonic  aspect  of  that 
state.  It  is  perhaps  best  to  keep  these  terms  joy  or  sorrow 
for  the  whole  complexes  of  emotion,  recognising,  however, 
that  the  former  implies  a  state  which  is  pleasurable  as  a 
whole  (though  certain  strands  or  elements  may  be  painful), 
and  the  latter  a  state  which  is  largely  painful  (thougli 
certain  portions  of  the  experience  may  be  pleasvuuble) . 

A  similar  difficulty  arises  in  connection  with  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  hajyjyiness  and  unhapjnness.  Some 
writers  of  distinction  have  identified  them  with  pleasure 
and  pain  respectively.     And  many  humbler  individuals 

'  McDougall,  op.  ci(.,  pp.  140,  loO. 


288   NATURE  ANB  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

have  accepted  the  identification.  When,  therefore,  it  is 
maintained,  as,  for  instance,  by  Socrates,  that  the  virtuous 
man  alone  is  truly  happy,  there  is  considerable  difiiculty  in 
accepting  the  statement.  Many  feel  that  it  ought  to  be 
so,  but  they  are  convinced  that  in  practice  it  is  frequently 
otherwise.  We  often  witness  the  spectacle  of  a  good  man 
struggling  with  adversity,  afflicted  with  many  trials  and 
sorrows,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  we  see  many  wdcked 
people  enjoying  luxury  and  ease.  We  may  be  told  that 
the  latter  individuals  are  not  in  a  state  of  pleasure.  But 
it  is  sometimes  hard  to  believe  the  assertion.  How,  then, 
can  the  apparent  paradox  be  explained  ? 

Pleasure  and  pain  are  produced  not  only  in  connection 
with  elementary  processes  of  sensation,  with  the  more 
complex  processes  of  perception  and  of  simple  emotions, 
and  with  the  still  more  complex  processes  involved  in  the 
activity  of  a  sentiment,  but  also  in  connection  with  the 
harmonious  or  unharmonioiis  working  of  the  whole  system 
of  sentiments.  As  the  individual  progresses  in  life,  the 
sentiments  tend  to  become  organised  among  themselves 
into  some  harmonious  system  or  hierarchy.  If  they  do 
not,  there  is  danger  of  continual  conflict.  Two  or  more 
partially  opposed  sentiments  are  excited  together,  and  since 
there  is  no  principle  of  harmony,  there  is  strife  between 
them.  This  involves  pain.  And  it  involves  a  great  deal 
of  pain  because  of  the  deeply  rooted  and  complex  nature 
of  the  organisations  between  which  strife  occurs. 

To  use  an  analogy  from  the  constitution  of  the  State,  it 
is  a  serious  matter  if  two  citizens  quarrel,  it  is  still  more 
serious  if  two  towns  disagree,  but  it  is  a  terrible  thing  if 
the  various  provinces,  or  the  different  classes  of  the  com- 
munity, are  at  cross  purposes.  The  solution  of  the  difficulty 
within  the  State  is  that  all  sections  of  the  community, 
while  pursuing  different  subordinate  ends,  shall  be  actuated 
by  a  common  and  dominant  purpose,  strong  enough  to 
render  all  serious  strife  impossible.  We  see  this  remedy 
at  its  best  whenever  some  great  national  purpose  grips 
the  whole  of  the  community.  When,  for  instance,  the 
nation  is  attacked  from  without,  all  parties  work  together 
in  defence  of   the   fatherland.     But  under  ordinary  cir- 


NATURE  AND  DEVEL0P3IENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       289 

cumstauces  there  is  usually  a  good  deal  of  uupleasaut 
friction  between  man  and  man,  and  between  section  and 
section,  of  the  community.  The  amount  of  this  measures 
the  weakness  of  the  nation.  The  reduction  of  it  implies 
tlie  strengthening  of  the  State.  At  the  same  time  the 
coimtry  becomes  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in.  And  this  in 
spite  of  the  many  minor  trials  and  troubles  which  must 
arise  on  account  of  the  action  of  nature  and  the  imper- 
fection of  man's  methods  of  dealing  with  it. 

Plato  in  his  Bepublic  suggests  that  this  harmonious 
condition  can  only  be  attained,  under  the  ordinaiy  con- 
ditions of  life,  when  one  class  or  section  becomes  dominant, 
subordinating  and  ruling  all  the  others.  He  believes  that 
the  ideal  State  is  one  in  which  a  class  of  philosopher-kings 
is  created.  These  men  have  the  welfare  of  the  State  as  their 
supreme  end,  and  they  co-operate  by  their  wisdom  in 
ordering  all  the  lower  sections,  so  that,  while  there  is  still 
diversity  of  occupation,  there  is  an  underlying  unanimity 
of  aim.  "Unless  it  happen,"  he  says,  "either  that 
philosophers  acquire  the  kingly  power  in  States,  or  that 
those  who  are  now  called  kings  and  potentates  be  imbued 
with  a  sufficient  measure  of  genuine  philosophy,  that  is  to 
say,  unless  political  power  and  philosophy  be  united  in  the 
same  person,  most  of  those  minds  which  at  present  pursue 
one  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other  being  peremptorily 
debarred  from  either,  there  will  be  no  deliverance,  my 
dear  Glaucon,  for  cities,  nor  yet,  I  believe,  for  the  human 
race."  ' 

Now  to  what  do  these  two  types,  kings  and  philosophers, 
who  ought,  according  to  Plato,  to  be  the  same  persons, 
correspond  in  the  human  mind  ?  The  king  is  the  person 
in  the  State  who  has  most  power.  And  he  corresponds  to 
the  ruUng  sentiment  in  the  mind.  The  philosopher  is 
the  person  who  loves  wisdom,  who  acts  calmly  and  wisely. 
And  he  corresponds  to  the  higher  intellectual  and  moral 
faculties  of  the  mind,  especially  in  so  far  as  they  are 
concerned  with  ideals  of  conduct.  If,  then,  we  apply  the 
analogy  to  the  constitution  of  character,  we  must  say  that 

1  Plato,  The  Republic,  Book  V. 
FUND.  PSY.  19 


290       NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

in  the  ideal  state  of  mind  there  is  not  only  a  dominant 
sentiment,  but  that  sentiment  is  suffused  mth  moral 
wisdom. 

The  dominant  sentiment  in  the  mind,  in  normal  cases 
at  any  rate,  is  the  self-regarding  sentiment,  the  system  of 
emotions  and  desires  which  grows  up  and  becomes 
organised  about  the  idea  of  self  and  all  appertaining  to  it. 
Some  form  of  this  sentiment  is  destined  to  rule  in  the 
mind.  But  it  can  only  establish  harmonious  government 
under  three  conditions — it  must  be  extended  and  de- 
veloped in  close  connection  with  the  altruistic  sentiments, 
enlightened  and  refined  by  the  criticism  which  arises  as 
the  intelligence  grows  and  reaches  the  higher  planes, 
strengthened  and  vivified  by  the  self-control  which  matures 
as  habits  of  choosing  the  right  course  become  firmly 
established.  When  thus  developed  it  becomes  "  the 
master  sentiment  among  all  the  moral  sentiments,  the 
sentiment  for  a  perfected  or  completely  moral  life.  If  a 
man  acquires  this  sentiment,  he  will  aim  at  the  realisation 
of  such  a  life  for  all  men  as  far  as  possible ;  but,  since  he 
has  more  control  over  his  own  life  than  over  the  lives  of 
others,  he  will  naturally  aim  at  the  perfection  of  his  own 
life  in  the  first  place.  In  this  sentiment,  then,  the 
altruistic  and  egoistic  emotions  and  sentiments  may  find 
some  sort  of  reconciliation ;  that  is  to  say,  they  may 
become  synthesised  in  the  larger  sentiment  of  love  for  an 
ideal  of  conduct,  the  realisation  of  which  involves  a  due 
proportion  of  self -regarding  and  of  altruistic  action ;  and 
the  desire  for  the  realisation  of  this  ideal  may  become  the 
master  motive  to  which  all  the  abstract  sentiments  lend 
whatever  force  they  have."  ' 

This  transformation  of  the  self -regarding  sentiment  into 
a  moral  purpose  pervading  the  whole  of  Hfe  is  symboUsed 
in  the  Christian  Church  by  such  expressions  as  "  giving 
oneself  to  God."  In  its  completeness  it  can  only  be 
attained  gradually.  But  under  the  influence  of  special 
circumstances,  great  crises  may  occur,  involving  totally  new 
orientations  of  desire  and  action.     These  are  usually  known 

'McDougall,  op.  cit.,  pp.  226,  227. 


NATTTRE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       201 

as  conversions.  They  ai'e  victories  of  the  self-regardiug 
sentiment  over  the  narrow  limitations  imposed  by  the  pre- 
dominance of  the  lower  and  more  egoistic  instincts.  And 
most  Christians  will  admit  that  they  must  be  confimied 
and  extended  by  long  periods  of  activity  in  the  new  direction, 
thus  grounding  the  moralised  sentiment  on  the  firm  rock 
of  habit.  If  this  process  does  not  take  place,  there  is 
imminent  danger  of  backsliding. 

Only  when  this  dominance  of  a  strong  moralised  self- 
regai'ding  sentiment  is  secured  can  there  be  a  state  of  life 
which  can  be  described  as  hapinness.  This  peace  "  which 
passeth  all  understanding  "  is  to  a  large  extent  independent 
of  the  pains  and  pleasiu-es  involved  in  the  fleeting  forms 
of  experience.  It  justifies  the  assertion  that  the  good 
man  is  happy,  even  in  adversity.  "  In  the  child  or  in  the 
adult  of  imperfectly  developed  and  unified  personality,  the 
pleasure  or  pain  of  the  moment  is  apt  to  fill  or  dominate 
the  whole  of  consciousness  as  a  simple  wave  of  feeling, 
whereas  in  the  perfected  personality  it  appears  as  a  mere 
ripple  on  the  surface  of  a  strong  tide  that  sets  steadily  in 
one  direction."  ^ 

The  word  hajrpiness,  then,  must  not  be  lightly  identified 
with  pleasure.  It  implies  that  harmonious  conduct  of  life 
which  can  only  be  attained  when  all  the  sentiments  have 
been  organised  and  placed  under  the  sway  of  a  highly 
moralised  and  widely  extended  self-regarding  sentiment. 
If  we  wish  to  specialise  the  meaning  of  the  word  to  denote 
pleasure,  it  can  only  lie  applied  to  that  permanent  pleasure 
which  accompanies  the  smooth  working  of  the  complicated 
system  of  conations  involved  in  the  perfected  character. 
This  pleasure  is,  1)y  the  nature  of  its  conditions,  enduring. 
And  though  it  may  be  pai'tially  obscured  by  the  pain  of 
the  passing  moment,  it  can  never  be  finally  extinguished. 
In  the  long  run,  therefore,  it  is  greater  in  amount  than 
that  which  can  be  derived  from  any  other  source.  "  Hence, 
so  long  as  the  whole  soul  follows  the  guidance  of  the  Avis- 
dom-loving  element  without  any  dissension,  each  part  can 
not  only  do  its  own  proper  work  in  all  respects,  or  in  other 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit.,  p.  157. 


292   NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

words  be  just ;  but,  moreover,  it  can  enjoy  its  own  proper 
pleasures  in  the  best  and  truest  shape  possible.*' ' 

I'rom  this  point  of  view  Ave  are  able  to  reconcile  two 
schools  of  moral  philosphy  which  haA'e  often  been  regarded 
as  diametrically  opposed.  On  the  one  hand  the  Hedonists 
have  preached  that  pleasure  is  the  end  of  life.  On  the 
other,  a  school  of  thinkers  whom  we  may  call "  Perfectionists" 
have  maintained  that  virtue  is  the  siimmnm  homim.  We 
have  seen  that  the  condition  of  mind  which  involves  the 
highest  moral  perfection  of  which  man  is  capable  is  at  the 
same  time  the  soiu'ce  of  the  most  enduring  pleasure. 
Epicurus,  one  of  the  earliest  of  hedonistic  philosophers, 
came  very  near  to  this  position  when  he  maintained  that, 
though  pleasure  is  the  end,  it  can  only  be  attained  to  the 
fullest  extent  by  a  life  of  virtue.  Unfortunately  many  of 
the  later  Epicureans  l^rought  the  name  of  their  master  into 
disrepute  by  adopting  the  end  while  neglecting  the  means. 
They  sought  the  sensual  pleasures  of  the  moment,  and 
failed  to  aspire  to  the  permanent  and  enduring  pleasure 
Avhich  is  an  unfailing  accompaniment  of  the  virtuous  life. 

The  parent  and  teacher  cannot  hope  to  produce  in  the 
child  the  ripe  fruit  of  a  perfect  character.  They  can,  how- 
ever, do  a  great  deal  in  laying  the  foundations  on  which 
the  beautiful  structure  Avill  aftenvards  be  reared  by  the 
child's  own  exertions.  They  can,  in  the  first  place,  do  much 
to  modify  the  growth  and  development  of  the  instincts 
out  of  which  the  sentiments  are  gradually  built  up.  Some 
require  svippression,  some  encom*agement ;  while  others 
must  be  turned  into  different  channels.  We  have  ah'eady 
noted  some  of  the  ways  in  which  the  instincts  and  innate 
tendencies  can  be  dealt  with. 

This  work  cannot  be  separated  from  the  building  up  of 
the  sentiments.  We  do  not  fii-st  get  the  right  proportion 
and  strength  of  elementary  tendencies,  and  then  organise 
them  around  certain  objects.  We  are  continually  deve- 
loping or  repressing  certain  tendencies  in  connection  with 
the  process  of  organising  a  sentiment.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  self -regarding  sentiment,  which  we  have  already  found 

'  Plato,  The  Republic,  Book  IX. 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       293 

to  be  the  most  important.  lu  its  early  stages  of  develop- 
ment, this  is  apt  to  be  compounded  of  instincts  and 
emotions  which  have  an  egoistic  bias.  The  instincts  of 
pugnacity  and  self-assertion,  compounded  with  such  others 
of  less  well-defined  emotional  tendency  as  those  of  feeding, 
acquisition,  manipulation,  and  constructiveness,  are  its 
predominant  features.  To  make  it  more  altruistic  we 
require  to  incorporate  in  it  such  tendencies  as  lead  the 
child  to  a  fuller  realisation  of  himself  as  a  social  being, 
dependent  on  the  love  and  approval  of  those  around  him. 
If  such  instincts  as  pugnacity  and  self-assertion  are  allowed 
to  continue  as  the  most  dominant  elements  which  operate 
in  this  sentiment,  an  imlovely  combination  of  self-will  and 
pride  will  be  developed.  Hence  the  need  of  the  exercise 
of  authority  over  the  child. 

The  modern  reaction  against  the  unbending  authority 
of  the  past  has  overshot  the  mark.  We  have  been  so 
often  bidden  to  respect  the  natural  tendencies  of  the 
child  that  there  is  now  a  real  danger  of  their  being 
allowed  to  grow  up  at  random,  like  weeds  in  a  garden. 
But  without  tlie  strong  intervention  of  authority,  some  of 
the  child's  natural  tendencies  would  not  be  called  forth  at  all. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  fear  and  submission  are  just 
as  natural  to  the  child  as  anger  and  self-display.  The 
former,  however,  will  not  be  called  out  to  any  large  extent 
under  modern  conditions  of  life  unless  authority  grips  the 
child.  True  self-respect  involves  not  merely  positive  self- 
feeling,  but  also  the  corresponding  negative  phase.  "  The 
main  condition  of  the  incorporation  of  this  disposition  in 
the  self-regarding  sentiment  is  the  exercise  of  avithority 
over  the  chikl  by  his  elders.  At  first  this  autliority  neces- 
sarily demonstrates  its  superior  power  by  means  of  physical 
force,  later  by  means  of  rewards  and  punishments.  On 
each  occasion  that  the  exercise  of  personal  authority  over 
the  child  makes  him  aware  of  a  superior  and  inflexible 
power  to  which  he  must  submit,  his  negative  self-foeling  is 
evoked  ;  then  his  idea  of  self  iu  relation  to  that  person 
becomes  habitually  accompanied  and  suffused  by  this 
emotion  in  however  slight  a  degree,  and  he  habitually 
assumes  towards  that  person  the  attitude  of  submission. 


294      NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

Thus  the  disposition  of  this  emotion  becomes  incorporated 
in  the  self-regarding  sentiment."^ 

From  the  psychological  point  of  view,  rewards  and 
punishments  are  most  complex  in  their  functions.  They 
imply,  first,  pleasure  and  pain  respectively.  This  pleasiue- 
pain  may  be  "  tendency- derived  "  or  "  intrinsic."  If  I 
allow  a  boy  as  a  reward  to  go  out  and  play  a  game  of 
football,  I  give  him  pleasure  by  allowing  one  of  his  ten- 
dencies free  exercise.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  put  him  by 
himself  away  from  the  other  children,  I  am  causing  pain 
by  checking  a  tendency— that  of  the  gregarious  instinct. 
When  the  infants'  teacher  gives  a  child  a  sweet,  the 
pleasure  derived  seems  to  be  largely  "  intrinsic."  If  she 
gives  him  a  smacli,  some  at  least  of  the  pain  is  "intrinsic." 

The  effects  of  the  pleasure-pain,  in  whichever  of  the 
two  ways  it  is  obtained,  are,  as  we  have  seen  in  a  former 
chapter,^  of  two  kinds.  In  so  far  as  the  rewards  and 
punishments  are  so  closely  associated  or  bound  tip  with  the 
activities  leading  up  to  them  that  there  is  no  separation  in 
thought  (as  is  the  case  with  young  babies),  the  pleasure- 
pain  acts  directly,  by  encouraging  or  weakening  the 
tendencies  to  those  activities.  In  so  far  as  the  rewards 
and  punishments  are  distinguished  from  the  activities 
leading  up  to  them,  though  possibly  {certainly,  indeed, 
where  they  are  regularly  given)  inevitably  connected  with 
them  in  thought,  they  act,  when  the  ideas  of  them  arise, 
by  awakening  distinct  conations — an  apjietitive  impulse  in 
the  case  of  reward,  tending  to  obtain  its  satisfaction  by 
means  of  the  line  of  activity  in  question,  an  aversive 
imindse  in  the  case  of  punishment,  tending  to  avoidance 
of  the  activity  in  question. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  Avays  in  which  rewards  and 
punishments  act.  As  soon  as  they  rise  to  the  second  level 
above  indicated,  the  level  at  which  the  child  can  call  up 
distinct  ideas  of  them  and  has  separate  conations  con- 
nected with  them,  the  level,  therefore,  on  which  they  are 
most  correctly  to  be  described  as  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, they  exert  further  influences.     For  when  the  young 

1  McDougall,  op.  cil. ,  p.  194,  -  Pp.  240  ff. 


NATURE  AND  BETELOPMENT  OP  THE  SENTIMENTS.       295 

child  lias  become  sufficiently  intelligent  to  distinguish 
them  from  the  activities  which  bring  them  upon  him,  he  is 
also  intelligent  enough  to  distinguish  himself  from  other 
similar  selves.  His  social  consciousness  is  developing. 
He  is  beginning  to  recognise  that  he  is  a  unit  intimately 
related  with,  and  depending  for  his  welfare  upon,  other 
units,  many  of  whom  are  vastly  more  powerful  than  him- 
self, and  the  whole  of  whom  constitutes  a  most  important 
pai't  of  the  total  environment  with  which  he  has  to 
struggle.  It  goes  without  saying  that  these  thoughts  are 
not  clear  and  definite  in  his  mind.  Only  philosophers 
state  them  in  this  definite  way.  But  all  who  are  able  to 
conduct  themselves  decently  in  society  show  ij^so  facto  that 
they  must  have  these  ideas  in  their  minds,  though  usually 
in  the  background. 

Now  rewards  and  punishments  do  much  to  generate  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  self  as  related  to  others,  and  to 
develop  a  satisfactory  system  of  emotions  and  conations, 
organised  about  that  idea  and  constituting  with  it  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment.  Eewards,  in  addition  to  the  effects 
previously  noticed,  indicate  to  the  child  in  very  "  tangible  " 
fashion  that  the  big  people  to  whom  he  is  learning  to  look 
up  are  pleased  with  him.  They  minister  specially  to  his 
self -feeling  (both  positive  and  negative)  and  to  his  craving 
for  sympathy.  He  is  elated  by  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  something  to  distinguish  himself.  At  the  same  time 
his  attitude  is  not  entirely  that  of  self-display  :  it  implies 
a  recognition  of  superior  persons  capable  of  distributing 
reward,  and  hence  involves  some  amount  of  subjection. 
Finally,  he  feels  himself  in  hannony  with  his  social 
environment,  and  gains  much  pleasure  by  the  sympathic 
reaction  between  it  and  himself.  In  such  ways  as  this, 
the  rewards  bestowed  on  the  child  extend  and  enrich  his 
self-regarding  sentiment.  At  the  same  time,  and  in  con- 
nection with  the  same  processes,  the  further  pleasures  and 
pains  involved  in  this  higher  phase  of  self -consciousness 
contribute  effects  similar  to  those  produced  on  the  lower 
plane  already  described.  The  child  is  thereby  encouraged 
to  continue  to  act  in  the  ways  whicli  have  led  to  these 
rewards. 


296       NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS, 

Puuishments  play  a  correspouding  and  complementary 
role.  They  indicate  to  the  child  that  the  big  people  to 
whom  he  looks  up  are  displeased  with  him.  He  feels  that 
he  is  out  of  joint  with  his  social  environment.  His  crav- 
ing for  sympathy  is  obstructed.  His  positive  self-feeling 
is  wounded.  The  pain  involved  in  these  processes  is 
added  to  the  intrinsic  pain  of  the  punishment  itself  and 
augments  its  influence  on  the  lower  plane  already  described. 
Under  normal  circumstances,  when  the  punishment  pro- 
duces the  desired  effect,  the  child's  negative  self -feeling  is 
strongly  aroused.  This  is  tlie  only  instinct  which  can 
under  the  circumstances  have  free  play.  We  accordingly 
find  tliat  the  child  is  ready  to  submit  himself  to  his 
superiors. 

Eewards  and  punishments,  then,  besides  their  direct 
action  on  tendencies,  play  a  most  important  part  in  the 
development  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment  as  a  whole. 
To  speak  broadly,  they  ensure  a  due  recognition  of  the 
claims  of  others  upon  the  individual,  thus  encouraging  a 
more  altruistic  outlook.  In  those  children  in  whom  such 
an  outlook,  with  its  corresponding  tendencies,  is  already 
well  developed,  the  need  of  definite  rewards  and  punish- 
ments is  not  so  great.  But  in  most  cases,  some  amount 
of  both  is  necessary — at  any  rate  in  the  early  stages. 
With  many  individuals  they  constitute  a  most  important 
factor  throughout  life. 

But  usually  rewards  and  punishments  may,  very  early 
in  life,  give  place,  to  a  large  extent,  to  praise  and  blame. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  very  intimate  connection  between  these 
two  methods  of  treatment.  On  the  one  hand,  praise  and 
blame,  being  frequently  used  in  conjunction  with  rewards 
and  punisliments,  are  ever  tending  to  call  up  ideas  of 
them,  and  thus  to  borrow  some  eflicacy  from  them.  Blame, 
especially,  tends  to  call  up  the  apprehension  of  possible 
punishment.  On  the  other  hand,  the  higher  kind  of 
influence  exerted  by  rewards  and  punishments  is,  as  we 
have  just  seen,  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of  praise  and 
blame. 

Such  rewards  and  punishments  as  good  and  bad  marks 
seem  to  constitute  an  intermediate  stage  between  rewards 


NATUEE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.   297 

and  punisLuients  proper,  and  "  mere  "  praise  and  blame. 
Marks  owe  their  power  both  to  the  consequences,  pleasant 
or  painful,  to  which  they  lead  (the  teacher  must  see  that 
they  do  lead  to  consequences)  and  to  the  distinction,  envi- 
able or  unenviable,  which  their  very  confennent  entails. 

It  is  sometimes  said  that  praise  and  blame  are  rewards 
and  punishments  to  children,  to  those,  namely,  in  whom 
the  self-regarding  sentiment  has  already  attained  some 
degree  of  complexity.  This  is  only  a  c^uestion  of  termino- 
logy. They  may,  if  we  choose,  be  called  rewards  and 
punishments  in  which  all  the  pleasures  caused  and  the 
wounds  inflicted  occur  within  the  domain  of  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment.  But  it  seems  best  to  reserve  the 
names  reward  and  j^umshment  for  those  methods  which 
involve  the  causing  of  pleasure-pain  in  other  ways,  i.e.  in 
addition  to  that  which  may  also  arise  concomitantly  within 
the  system  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment,  and  which  is 
due  to  the  consciousness  of  the  approval  or  disapproval  of 
one's  superiors. 

In  praise  and  blame,  then,  approval  and  disapproval  are 
shown  without  any  accompanying  infliction  of  pleasure  or 
pain  by  other  means.  It  is  obvious  that  these  higher 
methods  of  treatment  can  only  have  their  full  effect  when 
the  self-regarding  sentiment  has  already  become  fairly 
well  developed.  When  that  is  the  case,  they  cause  an 
amount  of  pleasure-pain  which  is  often  far  greater  than 
that  due  to  the  cruder  methods  of  reward  and  punishment 
(especially  if  these  be  considered  only  with  regard  to  their 
action  on  the  lower  plane).  A  highly  sensitive  child  may 
1)6  more  deeply  hurt  by  a  reproachful  look  from  his  teacher 
than  a  child  of  cruder  nature  would  be  l)y  a  thrashing. 
The  pleasure-pain  caused  by  praise  and  bkime  has  thus 
the  same  encouraging  or  discouraging  effects  as  the  cruder 
forms  of  reward  and  punishment.  It  is,  indeed,  often 
more  efficacious,  on  account  of  its  greater  intensity.  At 
the  same  time,  the  self-regarding  sentiment  is  continually 
extending  and  developing  under  the  influence  of  tliis  ap- 
proval and  disapproval.  Here,  too,  the  influence  of  praise 
and  blame  is  usually  greater  than  that  of  reward  and 
punishment.    The  latter   methods,  if   abused,   teijd   to   a 


298       NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

narrowing  of  tiie  self -regarding  sentiment.  But  praise  and 
blame,  though  tliey  may  have  a  similar  effect  when  exces- 
sively employed,  may  be  judiciously  used  in  great  free- 
dom without  leading  to  a  similar  contraction. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  praise  and  blame  have  been 
somewhat  neglected  in  the  past  by  most  teachers.  One 
reason  for  this  has  been  the  great  uncertainty  with  respect 
to  the  amount  of  pleasure  or  pain  aroused  in  any  given  case. 
We  have  already  seen  that  this  depends  on  the  state  of 
development  of  the  self- regarding  sentiment.  The  cruder 
rewards  and  punishments  have,  therefore,  been  frequently 
abused.  For  the  teacher  can  always  be  sure  of  causing 
some  amount  of  pleasure-pain  by  these  means,  though  the 
amount  often  varies  from  one  child  to  another  far  more 
than  he  suspects. 

Praise,  especially,  is  neglected  by  a  large  number  of 
teachers.  It  is  sometimes  thought  that  the  use  of  it  is 
an  evidence  of  weakness  both  in  teacher  and  child.  But 
if  we  reflect  that  most  adults — some  would  say  all — owe 
much  inspiration  for  their  work  to  the  thought  of  the 
approval  and  disapproval  of  their  fellows,  whether  those 
of  their  immediate  circle,  or  all  their  contemporaries,  or 
chiefly  posterity,  we  ought  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
praise  is  a  most  important  means  of  encouraging  young 
children  to  act  and  think  in  the  best  possible  way.  There 
ai'e,  it  is  true,  some  teachers  who  abuse  it,  causing  it  to 
lose  much  of  its  efficacy  by  too  frequent  repetition.  But 
perhaps  the  chief  reason  why  it  sometimes  fails  is  that  the 
teacher  lacks  personality.  The  praise  which  comes  from  a 
highly  respected  person  is  much  more  esteemed  than  that 
which  emanates  from  someone  little  above  ourselves,  and 
when  we  get  it  from  one  who  is  considered  our  inferior  we 
often  resent  it.  Hence  the  need  that  the  teacher  shall 
maintain  a  high  level  of  thought  and  deed,  so  that  his 
pupils  cannot  fail  to  look  up  to  him  in  some  respects. 
The  personality  of  the  teacher  is  the  keystone  of  his  moral 
infliience  on  his  boys. 

Though  the  "  moral  suasion  "  of  praise  and  blame,  in 
all  the  forms  which  they  may  take,  can  be  made  to  assume 
a  large  place  in  the  control  and  development  of  childi'en, 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       299 

it  must  once  more  be  repeated  that  this  can  only  occur 
when  a  certain  level  has  already  been  reached.  Rewards 
and  punishments  are  iisually  necessary  in  laying  the  foun- 
dations, and  they  are  .also  necessary  as  supplementary  to 
the  higher  methods.  In  most  elementary  schools  in  the 
poor  districts  of  great  towns,  there  are  some  children  in 
whom  the  self-regarding  sentiment  is  a  very  mean  and 
limited  organisation.  With  these  the  more  direct  methods 
of  reward  and  piuiishmeut  have  often  to  be  more  widely 
employed. 

It  has  already  been  noted  that  a  sentiment  is  a  complex 
disposition  to  feel,  think  and  act  in  certain  ways,  organised 
about  some  central  object  or  idea.  As  the  sentiment 
develops,  this  object  or  idea  becomes  more  complex.  As, 
for  instance,  the  self-regarding  sentiment  develops,  one's 
knowledge  of  oneself,  and  of  all  the  relations  into  which 
one  can  enter,  increases.  In  other  words,  moral  develop- 
ment implies  increase  in  knowledge.  We  have  already 
noted  in  an  earlier  chapter  that  knowledge  is  a  necessity 
for  right  conduct,  and  that  much  knowledge  is  necessary 
where  the  conduct  is  complex.  Now  in  this  field,  as  well 
as  in  all  other  fields  of  knowledge,  we  cannot  leave  the 
child  to  find  out  everything  for  himself  in  the  course  of 
his  individual  experience.  As  soon  as  he  has  made  a 
start  in  the  way  of  first-hand  acquaintance,  we  should 
enlarge  his  views  by  telling  him  more  than  he  could  ever 
discover  if  he  was  confined  to  the  limits  of  his  own  life. 

This  is  the  opportunity  for  moral  instruction.  Such 
teaching  never  supersedes  first-hand  acquaintance  with  the 
facts  of  life ;  it  must,  indeed,  be  based  upon  that.  It  can 
usually  take  the  form  of  stories  vividly  told,  without 
too  great  insistence  on  the  moral  implied.  But  if  the 
children  do  not  feel  the  force  of  the  stories,  no  mere  in- 
tellectual insistence  on  the  moral  will  help  them.  If 
stories  .are  to  quicken  the  moral  insight  of  the  childi'en, 
there  must  already  be  some  of  the  sentiment  expressed  by 
them  in  the  nature  of  the  children.  The  beginning  must 
have  been  laid  in  practical  experience.  The  ideas  aroused, 
whether  by  story  or  by  direct  precept,  are  of  little  value 
considered  solely  on  tlieir  intellectual  side.     They  must 


300      NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS. 

arouse  emotious  and  impulses  to  action.  Seeing  tliat 
moral  instruction,  as  such,  cannot  ensure  the  existence  of 
the  appropriate  sentiments,  some  educationists  have  ques- 
tioned its  utility.  There  seems  little  doubt,  however,  that 
when  once  a  groundwork  of  rudimentary  sentiments  has 
been  laid,  some  amount  of  moral  instruction  should  be 
given,  either  incidentally,  in  connection  with  such  subjects 
as  scripture,  history,  and  literature,  or  systematically,  in 
lessons  specially  arranged  for  the  purpose.  It  extends  the 
child's  horizon  beyond  the  narrow  confines  of  his  own 
experience,  and  it  stimulates  and  enriches  the  moral  senti- 
ments which  already  exist. 

It  is,  however,  possible  to  have  a  moral  sentiment  highly 
developed,  and  yet  to  find  that  the  conduct  in  harmony 
with  it  does  not  occur.  "  Hell,"  it  is  said,  "  is  paved  with 
good  intentions."  This  is  a  further  ai'gument  for  those 
who  belittle  the  value  of  moral  instruction,  as  such.  It 
certainly  does  point  to  the  need  of  something  more. 
It  reminds  us  that  the  silent  force  of  habit  should  be 
behind  the  other  powers  we  have  examined.  The  teacher, 
in  his  i;se  of  reward  and  punishment,  and  of  pi-aise  and 
blame,  should  have  constantly  in  mind  the  necessity  of 
securing  unfailing  repetition  of  the  actions  he  desires.  In 
a  large  number  of  cases,  the  sentiments,  with  their 
emotions  and  tendencies,  can  be  aroused  to  the  support  of 
those  actions.  But  often  the  need  for  a  certain  action 
arises  when  the  corresponding  emotions  are  not  at  white 
heat.  The  world  does  not  always  present  us  with  ovir 
hardest  tasts  when  we  are  in  the  most  favourable  attitude 
of  mind  to  attack  them.  If  we  are  not  to  fail  at  such 
moments  of  trial,  we  must  have  formed  fixed  habits  of 
action  under  more  favourable  circumstances.  Habit  itself, 
when  firmly  fixed,  is  a  conative  force. 

The  moral  sentiments,  therefore,  must  not  only  l>e 
founded  on  strong  instinctive  tendencies  and  enlightened 
by  far-reaching  knowledge,  they  must  be  rendered  stable 
and  continuous  by  the  development  of  a  strong  syst-em  of 
habits.  It  is  possible,  by  crude  methods  of  reward  and 
punishment  alone,  to  manufacture  habits  which  do  not 
correspond  to,  or  form  part  of,  any  definite  sentiment  or 


NATURE  AND  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENTIMENTS.       801 

dispositiou.  These  may  have  some  stability.  Aud  if  there 
is  uothiug  to  counteract  them,  they  are  likely  to  go  ou 
after  our  control  is  removed.  But  if  they  are  in  opposi- 
tion to  any  sentiments  or  dispositions,  they  will  quickly 
disappear  when  the  child  comes  to  rule  himself.  By  all 
means,  then,  let  us  try  to  shape  habits.  But  let  us  try 
also  to  develop  sentiments  in  harmony  with  tliem.  Either 
alone  will  be  in  danger  of  failing.  Together  they  will  form 
the  rock  on  which  character  is  built. 


Questions  on  Chapter  XIII. 

1.  Explain  fully  what  is  meant  by  the  term  sentiment. 

2.  Examine  the  meaning  of  the  terms  hnppiness,joy,  and^^/ea««re, 
showing  in  what  the^'  are  alike,  in  what  the}'  dift'er. 

3.  Puniihrnent  in  its  widest  sense  has  three  kinds  of  influence. 
State  these  as  clearly  as  you  can.  To  which  of  the  three  does  the 
word  punishment  used  in  its  narrowest  sense  m<jst  jiarticularly 
belong  ? 

4.  Show  that  rewards  and  punishments  are  necessary  in  most 
cases  to  the  building  up  of  an  adequate  self- regarding  sentiment. 

5.  Examine  the  influence  of  praise  and  hlame  on  the  development 
of  the  child. 

6.  Why  is  it  inadvisable  to  have  a  fixed  system  of  pains  and 
penalties  for  various  breaches  of  discipline  ? 

7.  Bring  out  the  importance  of  hahit  as  a  factor  in  producing 
moral  conduct.     Point  out  also  its  limitations. 

8.  How  can  moral  instruction  improve  the  character  of  a  child  ? 
Point  out  its  limitations. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


The  Will. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  will  pluuge  into  other 
psychological  text-books,  it  is  well  to  make  clear  the 
different  meanings  which  have  been  assigned  to  the  word 
will. 

Some  writers  make  it  synonymous  with  conation.  Now 
all  writers  imply  conation  when  they  use  the  term  will,  but 
many  restrict  its  meaning  to  certain  forms  of  conation. 
It  is  obvious  that  we  can  begin  with  the  wide  meaning 
(conation)  and  gradually  proceed  up  the  scale,  narrowing 
the  meaning  to  higher  and  less  numerous  forms  of  cona- 
tion. We  can  consequently  say — All  cases  of  will  (what- 
ever be  the  exact  meaning  of  a  waiter)  are  cases  of  conation. 
But  it  is  only  when  we  adopt  the  widest  meaning  that  we 
can  say — All  cases  of  conation  are  cases  of  ivill. 

Some  writers  use  the  word  tvill  for  all  those  conations 
which  are  expressed  by  bodily  movements,  and  w^hich  also 
involve  ideas  of  those  movements.  Thus,  the  sight  of  the 
poker  may  suggest  to  me  the  idea  of  poking  the  fire,  and 
the  nervous  impulse  accompanying  the  conative  energy  of 
this  idea  may  discharge  into  the  actual  movement,  of  which, 
of  course,  I  am  immediately  made  aware  by  means  of 
resulting  sensations.  The  whole  mechanism,  on  the 
psychical  side,  as  well  as  on  the  physiological,  may  be 
quite  automatic.  It  proceeds  like  a  reflex  action,  or  like 
a  purely  instinctive  action.  It  is  evidently  based  on 
associations  already  formed  in  past  experience,  and 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  habit.  Now  habits  require  con- 
sciousness in  the  early  stages,  but  involve  less  and  less  con- 
scious attention  as  they  become  fixed.    They  work,  if  there 

302 


THE   WILL.  303 

is  nothing  to  oppose  them,  like  reflex  or  instinctive  pro- 
cesses. They  have  often,  therefore,  been  called  secondarily' 
automatic,  to  distinguish  them  from  those  processes  like 
reflex  actions  and  instinctive  actions  which,  at  any  I'ate  so 
far  as  a  given  individual  is  concerned,  are  'primarily - 
automatic.  Such  movements  as  occur  at  the  mere  arousal 
of  the  idea  of  them  are  called  ideo-motor  movements. 
They  occur  very  frequently  with  all  of  us,  but  most 
frequently  with  those  who  have  a  fund  of  conative  energy 
which  is  not  drawn  off  by  other  ideas,  i.e.  with  those  in 
whom  few,  if  any,  other  ideas  are  suggested  beyond  that 
of  the  moment.  This  is  pre-eminently  the  case  with  the 
person  in  a  state  of  hypnosis.  He  does  almost  anything 
which  is  suggested  to  him  by  his  hypnotiser. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  higher  forms  of  conation, 
which  we  shall  presently  study,  usually  involve  these 
simpler  ideo-motor  actions  as  their  final  expression.  Thus, 
when  a  man  signs  his  name  to  the  most  important  docu- 
ment with  which  he  has  to  <leal  during  his  life,  and  does  it 
after  long  and  careful  consideration,  his  action  of  signing 
is  ideo-motor.  He  reqxiii'es  merely  the  idea  of  signing  his 
name  to  be  present  in  his  mind  with  sufficient  force,  and 
without  opposing  conations  of  adequate  strength  to  arrest 
him.  This  state  once  obtained,  the  movements  of  signa- 
ture take  place  automatically,  depending,  as  they  do,  on  a 
psycho-physical  disposition  developed  in  past  experience. 
But  this  simple  act  of  signature  is  the  concluding  part  of 
a  larger  conative  process  of  a  more  complex  nature,  and 
many  writers  would  refuse  to  allow  the  use  of  the  word 
will  except  in  application  to  the  more  complex  factors. 

Some  writers  use  the  word  ivill  to  cover  all  cases  in  which 
a  conation  proceeds  with  a  distinct  idea  of  the  end  to  which 
it  leads.  Thus  the  instinctive  actions  of  a  bird  building 
its  nest  for  the  first  time  would  not  be  said  to  exemplify 
will,  if — as  most  believe — the  bird  has  no  idea  of  the 
object  in  view.  Instinct  is  thus  said  to  be  blind.  But 
the  man  who  is  digging  vigorously  in  the  hope  of  finding 
gold  has  a  distinct  idea  of  his  purpose.  Such  a  state  as 
this,  in  which  there  is  great  conation  with  a  clear  idea  of 
the  end   of   that  conation,  is  often  called  desire.     It  is 


SO-l  THE    WILL, 

obvious  that  the  case  of  the  mau  signing  an  important, 
document  after  careful  consideration  is  one  of  desire.  If 
the  man  desired  nothing,  if  he  had  no  object  in  view,  he 
would  not  go  through  the  process  of  reading,  reflecting 
and  signing.  But  this  is  not  a  simple  case  of  desire.  The 
man,  as  we  have  described  him,  does  not  merely  recognise 
that  signing  the  document  will  attain  a  certain  end.  He 
refects.  There  are  other  desires  in  his  mind  which  conflict 
with  this  one. 

Others,  then,  go  a  step  further  in  specialisation  of  the 
meaning  of  the  word  ivill,  and  would  use  it  only  in  cases 
where  there  are  several  desires  conflicting,  and  one  of  them 
obtains  the  victory,  the  others  being  suppressed.  Thus  a 
boy  with  a  penny  may  want  to  obtain  both  a  top  and  a 
kite,  each  of  which  costs  that  amount.  He  has  to  decide 
between  them.  He  may  hesitate  for  some  time,  balancing 
the  two  sets  of  ideas  in  his  mind,  and  swayed  now  one 
way,  now  the  other,  by  the  conations  involved.  This  pro- 
cess is  often  called  deliberation.  Usually  it  ends  in  a 
definite  choice.  The  boy  plunges  for  one  or  the  other. 
This  is  frequently  called  an  act  of  will.  Another  name 
often  employed  is  volition. 

But  there  is  a  still  higher  type  of  choice.  The  struggle 
of  desires  in  the  last  case  is  usually  settled  by  the  stronger 
suppressing  the  weaker.  During  deliberation  one  of  the 
two  sets  of  ideas  develops  stronger  conative  force  than  the 
other.  The  prospect  of  possessing  a  kite  and  flying  it, 
when  reflected  upon,  awakens  a  keener  desire  than  that 
of  possessing  a  top  and  spinning  it.  The  former,  there- 
fore, Avins  the  day.  But  there  seem  to  be  cases  in  which 
a  weaker  desire  overcomes  a  stronger  one.  The  man  who, 
though  veiy  fond  of  wine,  refuses  to  drink  because  he 
desires  to  be  temperate,  seems  to  decide  in  the  direction  of 
the  weaker  motive.  Many,  at  any  rate,  afiirm  that  they 
have  such  experiences.  And  some  psychologists  would 
reserve  the  term  volition  for  the  effort  made  in  such  extreme 
cases.  Only  such  cases  of  moral  choice  should,  according 
to  them,  receive  the  name  volitions  or  efforts  of  will. 

It  is  perhaps  best  to  follow  these  writers,  and  to  use 
volition  only  for  these  instances.     The  term  choice  may  be 


THE    WILL.  305 

reserved,  for  sucli  simpler  cases  as  the  case  of  the  boy  and 
the  kite.  As  for  the  word  ivill,  we  shall  presently  find  the 
most  suitable  meaning  for  it.  Every  man  who,  after  a 
struggle,  succeeds  in  overcoming  a  strong  temptation  can 
be  said  to  have  gone  through  a  process  of  volition.  He 
appears  to  have  conquered  a  conation  which  was  stronger 
than  any  other  at  the  moment.  Usually  the  stronger 
conation  belongs  to  a  lower  plane,  the  weaker  to  a  moi'e 
ideational  one.  "  And  if  a  brief  definition  of  ideal  or 
moral  action  were  required,  none  could  be  given  which 
would  better  fit  the  appearances  than  this  :  It  is  action  in 
the  line  of  the  greatest  resistance. 

"  The  facts  may  be  most  briefly  symbolised  thus,  P 
standing  for  the  propensity,  I  for  the  ideal  impulse,  and 
E  for  the  effort : 

I  per  se  <  P 

I  +  E  >P."i 

Now  the  question  we  have  to  answer  is  :  Whence  comes 
this  effort  (E)  ? 

Some  psychologists  settle  the  matter  by  merely  calling 
it  an  effort  of  the  will.  And,  if  pressed  to  say  what  they 
mean  by  tvill,  they  give  other  terms  such  as  the  ego  or  the 
self.  If,  however,  this  is  to  be  regarded  as  some  separate 
entity  "  sitting  up  aloft,"  which  can  decide  the  matter 
much  as  a  judge  decides  a  case  of  law,  we  can  only  reply 
that  there  is  no  evidence  of  such  a  being. 

There  is,  however,  something  which  decides  the  struggle. 
But  it  is  not  a  separate  entity.  It  is  the  self-regarding 
sentiment.  If  the  weaker  ideal  motive  has  to  stand  by 
itself  against  the  stronger  propensity,  it  succumbs.  But 
if  the  person  can  pause  for  a  moment,  and  can  begin  to 
think  of  himself,  of  his  position  in  the  world,  of  his  aspira- 
tions and  ambitions,  and  if  these  ideas  are  associated  with 
emotions  and  impulses  of  considerable  power,  the  weaker 
ideal  motive  will  be  reinforced.  In  other  words,  if  a 
satisfactory  self- regarding  sentiment  has  been  developed, 
this  mil  turn  the  tide  of  battle.     "  The  conations,  the  desires 

'  James,  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  549. 
FUND.  PSY.  20 


306  THE    WILL. 

and  aversions,  arising  tvithin  this  self-regarding  sentiment 
are  the  motive  forces  which,  adding  themselves  to  the  tveaker 
ideal  motive  in  the  case  of  moral  effort,  enable  it  to  win  the 
mastery  over  some  stronger  coarser  desire  of  our  jmmi^ive 
animal  nature,  and  to  banish  from  consciousness  the  idea  of 
the  end  of  this  desired  ^ 

The  effort,  then,  is  due  to  strife  between  impulses 
aroused  within  the  self-regarding  sentiment  and  the  power- 
ful conation  belonging  to  a  lower  sphere.  This  is  the 
true  meaning  of  self-control,  the  control  of  the  lower 
impulses  by  those  connected  with  the  self- regarding  senti- 
ment. When,  therefore,  we  speah  of  an  effort  of  ivill  we 
mean  an  effoi-t  produced  by  the  impulses  connected  with 
our  higher  nature,  i.e.  with  our  self-regai'ding  sentiment. 
Will,  then,  in  this  sense,  is  only  another  name  for  the 
conative  forces  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment. 

If,  therefore,  highly  moral  volitions  ai"e  to  take  place, 
there  must  be  an  extended  and  enlightened  self-regarding 
sentiment.  But,  further,  as  we  have  already  seen,  it  must 
have  a  strong  conative  side.  There  are  persons  with  the 
most  exalted  notions  of  their  duty  who  have  unfortunately 
little  conative  force  involved  in  those  ideas.  And  even 
the  best  of  us  have  our  weak  moments — moments  when, 
although  we  know  the  right,  we  do  not  feel  any  powerful 
emotions  and  impidses  supporting  it.  All  om*  sentiments 
have  their  times  of  strength  and  of  weakness.  They  are 
more  stable  than  the  emotions  and  desires  of  which  they 
are  compounded,  since  they  are  due  to  repetition  of  similar 
experiences,  generating  certain  habits  of  thought,  feeling 
and  action.  But  they  partake  of  the  unstable  nature  of 
the  emotions  and  desires.  And  it  is  therefore  extremely 
necessary  that  the  element  of  habit  should  be  strengthened, 
especially  in  the  case  of  that  great  sentiment  which  plays 
the  predominant  role.  This  gi*eat  sentiment  must  never, 
if  possible,  lose  a  battle. 

As  man  progresses,  he  is  so  impressed  with  this  necessity 
that  he  develops,  within  his  self- regarding  sentiment,  a 
sub-sentiment — the  sentiment  for  self-control.     Instead  of 

^McDougall,  op.  cit.,  p.  248. 


THE    WILL.  307 

acting  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  tlie  approval  and  disapproval 
of  those  around  him,  or  even  of  an  inner  circle  of  respected 
friends  or  leaders,  he  begins  to  act  with  himself  as  the 
chief  spectator  in  the  "  gallery."  "  Moral  advance  and 
the  development  of  volition  consist,  then,  not  in  the  coming 
into  play  of  factors  of  a  new  order,  whether  called  the  will 
or  the  moral  instinct  or  conscience,  but  in  the  development 
of  the  self -regarding  sentiment  and  in  the  improvement  or 
refinement  of  the  '  gallery '  before  which  we  display  our- 
selves, the  social  circle  that  is  capable  of  evoking  in  us 
this  impulse  of  self-display  ;  and  this  refinement  may  be 
continued  until  the  '  gallery '  becomes  an  ideal  spectator 
or  group  of  spectators  or,  in  the  last  resort,  one's  own 
critical  self,  standing  as  the  representative  of  such 
spectators."' 

It  is  obvious  that  we  cannot  expect  to  find  highly 
developed  cases  of  volition  in  children  before  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment  has  attained  some  development,  i.e. 
before  they  have  acquired  some  self-consciousness.  But 
some  form  of  self -consciousness  develops  fairly  early  in 
the  life  of  the  child.  And  elementary  forms  of  volition 
can  be  noted  long  before  the  highest  form  of  moral  choice 
is  to  be  expected.  Teachers  and  parents  must  be  satisfied 
with  these  for  the  time  being.  Their  business  is  to  develop 
the  self-regarding  sentiment  with  respect  both  to  its  idea- 
tional aspect  and  to  its  emotional  and  impulsive  manifesta- 
tions, so  that  it  may  win  greater  and  nobler  victories  as 
time  proceeds. 

The  ideational  aspect  is  developed  largely  by  widening 
experience,  in  the  course  of  which  the  child  comes  into 
closer  and  more  intricate  relations  with  men  and  things. 
He  thus  grows  in  the  knowledge  of  himself  and  of  his 
environment.  And  it  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  that 
these  two  splieres  of  knowledge  develop  together,  and  by 
interaction.  Iii  so  far  as  we  know  other  people  bettor,  we 
understand  ourselves  more  adequately ;  and  in  under- 
standing ourselves  and  our  relations  we  necessarily  under- 
stand better  the  persons  and  things  outside  of  us  which 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit,,  p.  257. 


308  THE    WILL. 

constitute  the  second  terms  of  each  of  those  relations.  As 
we  have  ah-eady  noted,  this  knowledge  of  ourselves  in  our 
relations  to  the  world  can  and  should  be  further  extended 
by  some  form  of  moral  instruction,  whether  incidental  to 
the  instruction  in  such  subjects  as  scripture,  literature,  and 
history,  or  specially  arranged  for  as  a  separate  subject. 

But  it  must  always  be  remembered  that  the  ideational 
aspect  is  of  little  value  if  the  couative  aspect  is  not  also 
strongly  developed.  The  proper  emotions  and  impulses  are 
of  svipreme  importance.  And  it  is  worth  while  repeating, 
since  the  matter  is  of  such  moment,  that  since  emotional 
life  is  so  fluctuating,  it  is  necessary  to  secure  more  stability 
by  the  carefvil  formation  of  strong  habits.  These,  how- 
ever, are  of  little  value  luiless  they  are  largely  in  harmony 
with  the  emotions  and  impulses,  upon  which,  indeed,  they 
must  to  a  great  extent  be  based.  It  is  of  little  use  to 
coerce  a  boy  into  habits  which  are  directly  opposed  to  his 
strongest  tendencies.  It  is  better  rather  to  discover  what 
habits  can  by  judicious  treatment  be  formed  largely  on 
the  basis  of  those  tendencies.  Thus,  it  is  futile  to  force  a 
boy  of  strong  physique,  and  with  pronounced  tendencies 
to  bodily  activity,  to  adopt  a  life  of  close  application  to 
l)ooks.  But  it  is  possible  to  lead  such  a  boy  to  form 
habits  of  steady  work  at  some  trade  or  pi-ofession  involving 
much  manipulation  and  considerable  thought.  Nor  must 
we  attempt  to  form  habits  before  the  favouring  tendencies, 
together  with  their  ideational  accompaniments,  have 
developed.  It  is  not  advisable,  for  instance,  to  attempt  to 
form  a  habit  of  truth-telling  in  a  child  of  three,  whose 
ideas  of  his  obligations  to  others  in  this  respect  must  be 
very  limited,  whose  distinctions  between  the  real  of  per- 
ception and  the  unreal  of  imagery  are  probably  most  vague, 
and  whose  instinct  of  self-display  may  prompt  him  to  talk 
of  many  things  which  have  not  really  happened. 

As  examples  of  elementary  volitions,  with  the  more  or 
less  rudimentary  states  of  the  self -regarding  sentiment 
therein  involved,  we  may  take  the  following  cases. 

1.  We  noted  that  rewai'ds  and  punishments  bring  home 
to  the  child  in  very  definite  fashion  his  relations  to  some 
of  the  superior  persons  on  whom  he  depends.     Suppose  a 


'iHE    WILL.  309 

child,  who  has  been  punished  for  arriving  at  school  late 
without  excuse,  is  watching  some  men  at  work  in  the  road 
when  the  school-bell  suddenly  breaks  in  upon  his  hearing. 
He  may  be  interested  in  what  the  men  are  at  the  moment 
doing.  But  he  may  also  know  that,  unless  he  starts  off  at 
once,  he  will  certainly  be  late.  The  memory  of  former 
punishments  may  arise.  Still  there  may  be  hesitation  for 
a  few  moments.  If,  however,  he  suddenly  decides,  "  I 
don't  want  to  be  punished,  so  I'll  be  off,"  he  has  performed 
an  elementary  process  of  volition.  His  self -regarding 
sentiment  is  limited  to  the  idea  of  himself  as  liable  to 
piuiishment,  and  the  impulse  which  decides  the  short  con- 
flict is  largely  one  of  fear,  emphasised  by  the  warning 
tones  of  the  bell. 

Another  boy,  who  has  seldom  been  late,  and  thus  never 
punished,  may  be  in  similar  circumstances.  But  he  may 
be  trying  for  a  reward  card  for  punctual  and  regular 
attendance,  and  the  idea  of  this  may  be  sufficient  to  re- 
inforce the  Avarning  of  the  school  bell.  In  this  case,  the 
self- regarding  sentiment  is  probably  a  little  more  complex. 
The  idea  of  the  reward  card  may  involve  the  consciousness 
of  himself  as  a  person  to  be  approved.  But  in  both  cases 
the  consciousness  of  self  involves  little  more  than  the  one 
conation  which  is  aroused  to  countei'act  the  strong  tendency 
to  remain  watching  the  interesting  occupations  of  the 
workmen.  Some  would  therefore  prefer  to  call  these  mere 
cases  of  choice  (in  the  sense  we  have  already  assigned  to 
the  word). 

2.  As  praise  and  blame  acquire  more  power  over  the 
boy,  owing  to  his  developing  self-consciousness,  we  find 
many  cases  of  volition  of  a  distinctly  higher  order  than 
the  last.  Thus  both  the  boys  instanced  in  the  last  example 
might  be  overcome  by  the  extremely  curious  natui*e  of  the 
operations  they  were  watching.  But  a  third  boy  might 
reflect :  "  Father  will  be  so  sorry  when  he  hears  I  have 
been  late."  And  if  he  is  very  susceptible  to  the  praise  and 
blame  of  his  father,  he  may  make  a  big  effort  and  be  off. 

3.  Another  boy  might  be  a  member  of  a  class  in  which 
a  strong  corporate  spirit  exists,  and  which  hopes  to  distin- 
guish itself  as  the  most  punctual  class  in  the  school.     The 


310  THE    WILL. 

idea  of  its  loss  of  prestige,  of  the  disgust  of  his  comrades 
at  liis  failure  to  keep  up  the  reputation  of  the  class,  may 
arise  iu  his  miud  and  overcome  all  conflicting  considera- 
tions. This  is  quite  a  high  type  of  volition  for  a  young 
boy. 

4.  But  with  the  highest  type  of  boy,  there  may  arise 
cases  in  which  he  is  not  directly  dependent  on  some  definite 
approval  or  disapproval.  He  begins  to.be  the  spectator  iu 
the  gallery  to  himself.  He  says  to  himself,  "  I  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  myself  idling  here  when  my  duty  is  to  get 
to  school."  This  higher  form  of  self-consciousness  is  rare. 
But  it  is  to  be  found.  It  is  no  doubt  largely  aided  in  its 
development  by  moral  instruction  in  the  form  of  stories, 
especially  if  those  stories  are  told  by  one  who  exercises  a 
strong  power  of  suggestion  over  the  boy. 

Anything  higher  than  this  it  is  scarcely  right  to  expect 
with  young  children.  If,  however,  the  child  has  access  to 
good  literature  and,  more  important  still,  if  he  grows  up 
among  people  of  high  moral  purpose,  he  may  finally  rise 
to  such  strength  of  character  that  he  becomes  a  permanent 
law  unto  liimself,  and  is  able  to  decide  for  the  right  amid 
temptations  of  the  severest  kind. 

It  must  not  be  thovight  that  the  moral  life  is  necessarily 
a  long  series  of  severe  conflicts  such  as  those  described. 
Habit  not  only  strengthens  the  sentiment,  but  it  fixes  the 
general  line  of  procedure.  It  cannot,  of  course,  provide  for 
all  the  varieties  of  conduct  which  are  necessary  in  a  complex 
society.  But  it  can  render  the  self-regarding  sentiment 
so  strong  and  certain  in  its  action  that  there  are  no  con- 
flicts in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  This  is  the  state  of 
harmony  to  which  reference  was  made  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  In  this  way  the  self  comes  to  rule  supreme  over  con- 
duct, the  individual  is  raised  above  moral  conflict ;  he 
attains  character  in  the  fullest  sense,  and  a  completely 
generalised  will,  and  exhibits  to  the  world  that  finest 
flower  of  moral  growth,  serenity.  His  struggles  are  no 
longer  moral  conflicts,  but  are  intellectual  efforts  to  dis- 
cover what  is  most  worth  doing,  what  is  most  right  for 
liim  to  do."  ^ 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit.,  pp.  262,  263. 


THE    WILL.  311 

There  is  no  doubt  that  religious  belief  is  often  a  power- 
ful factor  in  bringing  about  this  harmonious  rule  of  the 
self-regarding  sentiment.  Some,  indeed,  maintain  that 
without  such  support  this  highest  form  of  morality  cannot 
be  attained,  and  they  consequently  refuse  to  separate  moral 
from  religious  education. 

We  have  used  the  word  character  several  times  already, 
and  it  is  fitting  that  we  should  give  it  an  exact  meaning. 
Character  is  the  svim  of  all  the  tendencies  which  an  indivi- 
dual possesses.  It  is  based,  therefore,  in  the  first  place, 
upon  the  instincts  and  innate  tendencies  which  the  indivi- 
dual possesses  on  coming  into  the  world,  or  which  develop 
as  time  progresses.  But  these  become  modified  by  the 
physical  and  social  environment  of  the  individual,  giving 
i*ise  to  more  or  less  fixed  dispositions  to  act  in  certain  ways 
in  relation  to  certain  objects.  In  other  words,  they  become 
habits.  Character  has,  therefore,  been  often  called  a 
bundle  of  habits.  But  it  is  more  than  this.  For  habits 
are  mechanical  reactions  to  certain  definite  situations, 
while  life  is  seldom  a  series  of  repetitions  of  the  same 
situations.  There  must,  therefore,  be  a  power  behind  the 
habits  which  secures  modifications  of  conduct  as  circum- 
stances arise.  "  A  youth  may  have  formed  an  excellent 
set  of  home  and  school  habits,  but  if  these  are  all  his 
moral  stock-in-trade,  he  may  fail  miserably  when  he  enters 
upon  the  freer  life  of  college  or  of  the  world  of  business. 
Life  is  at  all  points  too  complex  an  affair  to  be  worked  by 
machinery.  .  .  ."  ' 

Character,  then,  retains  much  of  the  instinctive  and 
emotional  basis  which  evokes  the  habits,  helps  to  sustain 
them,  and  is  itself  x'einforced  by  them.  It  includes  the 
organisation  of  these  tendencies,  with  their  emotions,  into 
sentiments,  above  all,  the  organisation  of  that  great  ruling 
sentiment  which  we  have  called  the  self-regarding  senti 
ment.  And  since  the  tendencies  are  towards  right  con- 
duct, pleasure  is  found  therein — that  pleasure  which  is 
due  to  the  harmonious  working  of  a  system  of  impulses 
which  all  obtain  their  due  amount  of  satisfaction.     As 

'  Raymont,  The  Principles  of  Education,  pp.  328,  329. 


312  THE    WILL. 

Aristotle  says,  "  A  man  is  not  good  at  all  unless  lie  takes 
pleasure  in  noble  deeds.  No  man  would  call  a  man  just 
who  did  not  take  pleasure  in  doing  justice,  nor  generous 
who  took  no  pleasure  in  acts  of  generosity,  and  so  on."  ^ 
This  is  the  state  of  mind  which  we  have  already  noted  as 
that  of  true  happiness. 

Such  are  the  characteristics  of  the  good  character.  And 
the  goodness  of  it  is  measured  by  the  richness  of  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment,  especially  with  respect  to  its  altru- 
istic emotions  and  tendencies,  and  by  the  conative  force 
which  it  is  able  to  exert  when  opposing  tendencies  are 
aroused.  We  have  already  noted  that  this  conative  force 
may  be  termed  will.  Will  is,  therefore,  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  character.  If  all  its  conditions  are  included 
with  it,  its  name  may  be  used  as  synonymous  with  charac- 
ter. Thus  Novalis  tells  us,  "  A  character  is  a  completely 
fashioned  will." 

It  is  obvious,  then,  that  character  depends  on  both 
heredity  and  environment.  In  other  words,  it  is  an  affair 
of  both  nature  and  nurture.  There  are  some  childi-en  who 
inherit  such  strong  egoistic  tendencies  and  such  feeble 
altruistic  ones  that  the  most  careful  nurture  will  never 
make  noble  characters  of  them.  On  the  other  hand,  some 
beautiful  characters  are  rather  born  than  made,  and 
possess  many  good  tendencies  which  even  an  unfavourable 
envii'onment  is  not  sufficient  to  repress. 

It  should  be  remembex-ed  also  that  the  physical  nature 
of  the  child  is  an  important  factor.  This  is  largely  a 
matter  of  heredity,  though  environment,  especially  with 
respect  to  pure  air,  right  temperature  and  food,  can  modify 
it  to  some  extent.  The  physical  nature  in  its  influence  on 
the  mental  is  often  referred  to  under  the  term  tempera- 
ment. Mental  development  is  constantly  affected  by 
peculiai'ities  of  temperament.  A  child  of  a  cheerful  tem- 
perament will  be  highly  responsive  to  bright  influences ; 
he  will  be  optimistic,  and  not  easily  discouraged.  A 
child  of  gloomy  temperament  will  require  much  more 
stimulation,  and  wiU  often  be  a  source  of  despair  to  the 

1  Ethics,  I.  viii.  12. 


THE    WILL.  313 

most  patient  and  enthusiastic  teaclier.  In  all  cases,  liow- 
ever,  nurture  can  do  much.  The  knowledge  of  his 
limitations  should  not  discourage  the  teacher.  He  should 
rather  be  nerved  thereby  to  make  the  best  of  the  material 
entrusted  to  his  workmanship. 

Actions  which  are  determined  by  character,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  those  which  are  largely  reflex  or  automatic, 
are  usually  referred  to  as  moral  actions.  Moral  actions, 
therefore,  involve  the  interference  of  the  self-regarding 
sentiment  in  the  play  of  motives.  And,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  feature  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment  which  is  most 
important  in  this  connection  is  its  altruistic  aspect.  A 
person  cannot  be  said  to  act  morally  until  he  recognises 
his  relations  to  others  and  is  influenced  thereby.  In  other 
words,  an  individual  cannot  be  moral  until  he  develops  a 
social  consciousness.  In  achieving  this,  as  we  have  already 
noted,  he  thereby  and  therein  becomes  more  definitely 
conscious  of  himself.  Indeed,  he  cannot  know  himself 
without  this  knowledge  of  others.  No  human  being  can 
be  looked  upon  as  an  independent  unit.  Each  is,  as  it 
were,  the  centre  or  meeting  point  of  a  large  number  of 
connecting  threads.  This  is  what  Aristotle  meant  when  he 
called  man  a  TroAtTtKov  (wov — a  political  or  social  animal. 
We  see,  then,  that  moral  conduct  is  essentially  social 
conduct.  It  involves  a  deep  recognition  of  our  relations  to 
others,  and  the  control  of  our  actions  in  harmony  with  that 
recognition.  Some  writers,  therefore,  do  not  attempt  to 
distinguish  between  the  terms  social  and  moral  action. 

The  teacher  must  not,  therefoi-e,  expect  moral  action  of 
a  high  type  from  very  young  children,  who  have  a  very 
vague  consciousness  of  themselves  and  of  their  relations 
to  others.  When  the  actions  of  a  young  child  seem  of 
a  highly  moral  type,  it  is  probably  not  true  that  they 
involve  all  those  complex  considerations  which  would  lead 
to  similar  actions  on  the  part  of  an  adult.  It  is  to  be 
suspected  that  the  child  is  endowed  with  an  unusually 
large  share  of  altruistic  tendencies,  which  work  more  or 
less  automatically.  This  may  diminish  our  estimation  of 
the  morality  of  the  child.  But  it  is  nevertheless  a 
promising  foundation  for  future  morality  of  a  high  type. 


iil4  THE    WILL. 

Furtlier,  tlie  same  kind  of  cousideration  will  prevent  the 
teacher  falling  into  despair  over  the  numerous  undesirable 
actions  which  he  is  bound  to  observe.  He  should  refrain 
from  considering  these  in  the  same  way  as  he  would  if  he 
were  dealing  with  an  older  child  or  with  an  adult.  He 
should  consider  them  rather  as  indications  of  the  kind  of 
nature  which  he  has  to  train  than  as  evidences  of  a  firmly 
rooted  evil  character. 

In  the  early  stages  of  education,  therefore,  the  teacher 
must  be  content  to  lay  the  foundations  of  good  habits,  to 
develop,  by  means  of  the  organisation  and  discipline  of  the 
school,  a  self-regarding  sentiment  which  is  increasingly 
altruistic,  and  to  enrich  that  sentiment  by  appropriate 
literature  and  instruction. 


Questions  on  Ciiaptkr  XIV. 

1.  What  arc  the  various  meanings  which  have  been  assigned  to 
the  term  will  1 

2.  Describe  a  case  of  volition  as  it  might  occur  in  a  young  child. 

3.  What  do  you  understand  by  self-control  ?    How  is  it  developed  ? 

4.  What  is  character  ? 

5.  "  Nature  and  nurture — each  has  its  own  part  to  play  in  the 
development  of  the  child."  Comment  briefly  on  this  from  the 
teacher's  point  of  view. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


Attention. — I. 

Throughout  this  book  the  word  attention  has  beeu 
frequently  meutioued.  In  the  chapter  ou  Sensation,  for 
instance,  frequent  reference  is  made  to  it.  Take  the  follow- 
ing as  an  example : — "  The  moment  any  group  of  sensa- 
tions get  sufficient  hold  over  me  to  claim  my  attention 
a  new  object  arises  to  obscure,  if  not  to  obliterate,  all 
others."  In  the  chapter  on  Memory  it  was  stated  that  if 
an  association  is  to  be  formed  between  two  ideas,  there 
must  be  a  passage  of  attention  fi'om  one  to  the  other.  In 
the  last  chapter  we  have  referred  to  various  considerations 
occurring  before  the  final  volition  or  effort  of  will  takes 
place.  Now  these  considerations  involve  ideas,  and  these 
ideas,  especially  when  they  attain  their  full  force  and 
clearness,  involve  attention.  If  it  has  been  decided  to 
do  something,  the  idea  of  the  action  in  question  is 
attended  to.  If  it  has  been  decided  to  go  on  think- 
ing of  something  instead  of  proceeding  with  some  other 
thing,  that  something  is,  of  course,  attended  to. 

What,  then,  is  attention  ?  It  is  no  new  form  of  con- 
sciousness. It  is  merely  the  essential  element  in  all  cog- 
nitive activity.  It  is  the  concentration  of  consciousness 
upon  one  object  rather  than  upon  another.  And  in  this 
and  the  following  cluipter  we  shall  merely  be  concerned  in 
reviewing  cognition  with  respect  chiefly  to  the  conditions 
which  determine  its  direction  on  one  thing  rather  than 
upon  another.  As  conation  looms  largely  among  those  con- 
ditions, we  have  postponed  the  consideration  of  this  aspect 
of  cognition  until  after  some  treatment  of  conative 
development. 

Concentration  of  consciousness  is  inevitable  because  of 
the  limitedness  of  mental  life.     There  is  only  a  certain 

315 


316  ATTENTION. 

amount  of  nervous  energy  available  at  any  given  moment. 
If  it  is  expended  in  one  way,  accompanied  by  a  given 
form  of  consciousness  (say,  attention  to  a  picture).,  other 
ways  in  which  it  might  have  been  expended  (say,  attention 
to  one's  organic  state)  must  suffer.  When,  for  instance,  a 
little  child  is  crying  on  account  of  painful  organic  sensa- 
tions which  he  is  receiving,  it  is  sometimes  possible  to 
divert  his  attention  by  showing  him  a  pretty  picture.  The 
state  of  his  internal  organs  which  gave  rise  to  his  pain  may 
not  have  changed.  But  the  excitation  of  another  part  of 
his  brain  has  drained  energy  from  the  part  affected  in 
connection  with  his  painful  state,  so  that  the  excitation 
of  the  latter  part  for  the  time  being  languishes. 

Do  we,  then,  attend  to  one  thing  ^  at  a  time  ?  Or  can  we 
attend  to  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time  ?  As  a  rule,  the 
bulk  of  our  attention  is  given  to  one  object,  feut  it  is 
very  rare  to  find  the  concentration  so  complete  that  one 
object  monopolises  the  whole  of  our  consciousness^'  Sol- 
diers in  battle  have  been  known  to  be  so  concentrated  on 
the  fight  that  they  have  been  mortally  wounded  without 
knowing  it  at  the  time.  But  such  cases  of  excessive 
concentration  seldom  occur.  As  a  rule  Ave  attend  to  one 
thing  more  than  to  any  others,  but  at  the  same  time  we 
are  more  or  less  conscious  of  other  things — of  things  which 
have  just  occurred,  and  to  which  we  were  a  moment 
before  keenly  attentive,  of  things  which  we  are  expecting 
to  occur,  and  of  things  which  are  occurring  at  the  same 
time,  but  which  are  not  attended  to  very  definitely.  The 
thing  to  which  we  are  most  attentive  is  usually  said  to 
occupy  tlie  focus  of  attention,  the  other  things  to  which  we 
are  less  attentive  are  said  to  occupy  the  iiiargin  of  atten- 
tion. These  terms  focus  and  margin  are  drawn  from  the 
language  of  vision.  But  they  can  be  used,  in  speaking  of 
attention,  for  any  sphere  of  cognitive  activity.  Thus  an 
idea  (say,  of  an  approaching  examination)  may  occupy  the 
focus  of  my  attention,  while  a  visual  percept  (say,  that  of 

•  By  ' '  one  thing  "  is  not  meant  necessarily  one  small  object.  Four 
or  five  marbles,  for  instance,  can  be  seen  and  attended  to  at  one 
glance.  Attending  to  "one  thing"  here  means  attending  in  one 
direction,  i.  e.  to  the  marbles  oiiii/. 


ATTENTION. 


317 


the  examiuatiou  room)  may  be  the  principal  thing  iu  the 
margin. 

A  re-shuffling  of  positions  is  continually  going  on  :  an 
object  in  the  margin  tends  to  come  to  the  focus,  pushing 
what  was  at  the  focus  into  the  margin.  Thus,  the  sight  of 
the  examination  room  may  come  into  the  focus ;  the  idea 
of  the  examination  itself  may  recede  into  the  margin 
while  I  examine  the  details  of  the  room  in  which  the 
ordeal  is  to  take  place.  Further,  as  one  object  attains  the 
focus,  it  not  only  pushes  its  predecessor  at  the  focus  into 
the  margin,  but  it  tends  to  cause  others  to  arise  in  the 
margin.  These  others  are  ideas  of  objects  which  have 
been  associated  with  it  in  times  past.  At  those  times, 
attention  passed  backwards  and  forwards  between  that 
object  now  at  the  focus  and  these  others.  And  now,  the 
same  process  tends  to  recur.  There  is  a  tendency  to 
rediniegration  of  those  past  states.  The  ideas  thus  aroused 
in  the  margin  tend  to  reach  the  focus  and  to  displace  the 
object  to  which  their  appearance  is  due.  In  this  way 
there  is  a  continual  kaleidoscopic  movement  in  conscious- 
ness. The  difference,  however,  between  the  kaleidoscope 
and  consciousness  is  that  in  the  fonner  all  the  elements 
are  always  present,  the  re-arrangements  being  always 
made  out  of  the  same  elements,  whereas  in  consciousness 
new  elements  are  continually  being  di'agged  in — some 
being  ideas  based  on  past  experience,  some  being  percepts 
due  to  new  experiences  in  the  world  of  sensation. 

There  has  l:)een  in  the  past  an  inchnation  to  extol  the 
continued  concentration  of  consciousness  on  one  object. 
It  has  been  thovight  that  this  is  the  highest  form  of  atten- 
tion. It  is  very  necessary  at  times.  But  it  is  by  no 
means  the  most  useful  form  of  attention.  In  the  first 
place,  one  of  the  most  important  conditions  of  great 
cognitive  activity  is  change  in  the  object.  The  person 
who  succeeds  in  gazing  long  at  one  thing,  shutting  out  all 
else  from  consciousness,  soon  goes  off  into  a  trance-like 
state.  This,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  the 
hypnotic  trance  can  l>e  induced. 

Fui'ther,  if  we  always  attended  to  one  object  only  at 
a  time,  we  should  never  discover  the  relations  between 


318  ATTENTION. 

tilings.  It  is  pi'ecisely  because  we  can  attend  to  one  thing 
"with  the  idea  of  another  still  to  some  extent  before  us, 
that  the  processes  of  comparison  and  abstraction  can  take 
place.  The  highest  form  of  attention,  therefore,  is  that 
in  which  we  attend  to  one  thing  with  other  ideas  due  to 
past  experience  in  the  margin,  so  that  the  relations 
between  this  object  and  those  ideas  detennine  higher 
forms  of  cognition.  Thus,  observation,  as  distinguished 
from  mere  perception,  involves  the  bringing  of  the  object 
presented  into  relation  with  ideas  resuscitated  from  past 
experience.  I  cannot  say  that  a  thing  which  I  perceive  is 
a  hall,  that  it  is  round,  and  white,  and  hicj,  unless  ideas 
corresponding  to  those  terms  have  already  occurred  in 
past  experience,  and  are  now  resuscitated. 

This  kind  of  attention,  in  which  there  is  action  and  re- 
action between  the  object  pi'esented  and  ideas  already 
formed  on  the  basis  of  past  experience,  is  often  called 
airperception  or  aj^perceptive  attention^,  Even  when  a  child 
can  recognise  an  object  and  call  it  by  its  name,  he  is 
not,  as  we  have  already  noted,  merely  perceiving  it.  He 
is  using  at  least  one  idea  in  his  process  of  perception. 
"  This  means,  in  the  language  of  psychology,  that  the 
primitive  form  of  attention  which  is  captured  at  once  by 
objects  that  strike  the  senses,  is  giving  place  in  some 
degree  to  apperceptive  attention,  which  is  yielded  to  things 
that  connect  themselves  with  what  we  already  know.  ..."  * 

The  fundamental  process  in  this  higher  type  of  atten- 
tion is  as  follows.  An  impression  that  comes  in  from 
without,  be  it  a  word  which  we  hear,  a  thing  which  we  see, 
a  scent  which  we  smell,  or  something  which  we  touch, 
becomes  connected  with  ideas  already  possessed  by  the 
mind.  If  these  ideas  are  not  ah-eady  excited  at  the 
moment  of  the  impression,  the  latter  tends  to  call  them 
up.  And  it  does  so  according  to  the  laws  of  memory. 
If,  for  instance,  we  hear  someone  say  "1,  2,  3,"  we  tend  to 
think  of  "4,  5,  6."  Such  recall  would  be  due  to  mere 
association  by  contigiiity. 

But  we  might  also  think  of  "  one  hundred  and  twenty- 

'  Raymont,  The  Principles  of  Education,  p.  76, 


ATTENTION.  319 

three,"  altbou^■ll  we  had  never  dealt  with  that  particular 
number  before.  Such  recall,  then,  could  not  be  on  accovint 
of  association  by  contiguity  alone.  The  whole  state  of 
mind  or  mass  of  ideas  connected  with  number  would  in 
this  case  be  resuscitated  on  account  of  association  by 
contiguity ;  but  there  would  be,  in  addition,  a  production 
(by 'the  revived  ideas  and  thought-links)  of  comparatively 
new  results.  It  is  the  fate  of  every  impression  which 
gets  any  hold  on  the  mind  already  furnished  with  ideas, 
to  connect  itself  with,  and  be  reacted  on  by,  some  of  those 
ideas,  in  the  way  described.  And  it  is  to  be  remembered 
that  continued  attention  in  connection  with  that  impression 
is  only  possible  when  there  is  such  a  mental  furniture.  We 
then  conceive  the  impression  in  some  definite  way.  We 
dispose  of  it  accoi-ding  to  the  cognitive  powers  or  ideas 
which  we  already  possess.  It  is  obvious,  then,  that 
apperception  is  only  another  name  for  ideation,  or  con- 
ception. The  ideas  or  concepts  with  which  we  are  armed 
are  called  by  Herbartian  pyschologists  the  "  apper- 
ceiving  mass"  or  the  "apperception  mass."  The  new 
impression  is  engulfed  in  this,  and  the  result  is  a  state 
of  consciousness  produced  by  the  interaction  of  new  and 
old.  The  new  is  understood  on  the  background  of  the 
old.  And,  as  a  result,  our  mental  furniture  has  to 
some  extent  been  modified,  so  that  the  "  old  "  which  we 
shall  call  up  on  a  subsequent  occasion  in  the  same  sphere 
of  thought,  when  some  other  new  impression  is  presented, 
will  be  a  richer  "old"  than  it  would  have  been,  hail  the 
experience  described  never  occurred. 

It  should  be  noted  that  we  have  spoken  of  the  im- 
pression as  "  new."  By  that  we  mean  that  it  must 
appear  to  some  extent  strange  to  us.  There  must  be 
some  aspect  of  it  which  is  not  familiar  to  us.  If  there 
were  no  such  aspect,  i.e.  if  the  thing  appeared  completely 
famihar,  no  interaction  between  new  and  old  could  take 
place.  For  there  would  be  nothing  new.  "  Same  old 
thing !  "  would  be  our  attitude,  if  we  attended  to  it  at  all, 
and  we  should  pass  on  to  something  else.  This  means 
that  the  mental  furniture  is  aroused,  but  only  finds  some- 
thing   like   what  has   been  seen   before.     The    work    of 


320  ATTENTION. 

apperception  lias  already  been  done  in  tlie  past.  And  this 
present  case  is  only  a  repetition  of  the  same  process. 
(Now  it  is  a  universal  law  that  processes  which  are 
repeated  in  exactly  the  same  way  become  mechanical,  and 
consciousness  gradually  retires  into  the  background.  The 
nervous  processes  involved  seem  to  take  place  so  smoothly 
and  swiftly  that  little  consciousness  can  be  aroused. 
Apperception,  the  process  of  learning  something  new, 
becomes  mere  assiviUation,  the  process  of  casually  re- 
cognising what  has  already  been  thoroughly  understood.  > 

But  it  should  be  noted  that  the  impression  must  not  be 
too  "new."  A  totally  new  impression  woiold  be  something 
unlike  in  all  respects  to  anything  experienced  before.  We 
should  then  have  no  ideas  with  which  to  react  upon  it. 
We  should  fail  to  make  anything  of  it.  To  use  the  ex- 
pression of  Professor  Adams,  we  should  be  at  the  "  gaping 
point."  Of  course  it  is  impossible,  after  the  first  few 
years  of  life,  to  find  anything  completely  new.  But  tilings 
may  be  too  new  for  us  to  tackle  them.  It  was  observed, 
for  instance,  that  savages,  seeing  some  foreign  merchant- 
men for  the  first  time,  were  more  interested  in  the  little 
boats  which  put  off  from  them,  than  in  the  wonderful 
ships  themselves.  Those  little  boats  were  new  to  them, 
but  not  too  new.  They  had  some  ideas  of  boats,  derived 
from  their  own  primitive  craft.  But  the  gigantic  ship 
was  beyond  their  comprehension. 

We  see,  then,  that  for  apperception  to  take  place,  the 
object  must  be  partly  "new,"  partly  "old/'  i.e.  partly 
familiar,  partly  unfamiliar.  When  this  is  the  case,  we 
have  the  conditions  of  curiosity,  and  there  is  an  attempt  to 
learn  more  of  the  object. 

It  is  now  clear  that  observation  is  always  a  process  of 
apperception.  Whenever,  indeed,  our  attention  divells  on 
something,  whether  it  be  an  external  object  or  an  idea 
arising  in  the  mind,  that  something  is  transfigured  by 
being  brought  into  relation  with  the  ideational  traces  of 
past  experience — in  other  words,  it  is  apperceived.  Apper- 
ception, then,  includes  both  observation  of  objects  and 
reflection  upon  ideas  and  their  relations.  Both  may  be 
subsumed  under  the  general  tenn  judgment.     Every  judg- 


ATTENTION.  321 

ment  implies  the  elucidation  of  something  which  is 
presented  to  the  mind  by  means  of  something  already 
possessed  by  the  mind.  Every  judgment  may  be  thrown 
into  the  form — This  (which  is  presented  to  my  mind  and 
to  Avliich  I  begin  to  attend)  is  (on  accovmt  of  ideas 
aroused  during  the  process  of  attention  cognised  as)  so  and 
so  ("  so  and  so  "  being  one  or  more  of  those  ideas  aroused 
during  the  process  of  attention). 

Reasoning  is  also  a  form  of  apperception,  for  it  involves 
judgment.  In  this  case,  however,  we  have  not  merely  the 
ideas  involved  in  the  judgment  actually  made  (as  the  con- 
clusion of  the  reasoning),  but  other  ideas  which  are  seen  to 
be  related  to  the  former  ideas,  and  which  determine  the 
selection  of  those  ideas.  Reasoning  is  thus  the  highest 
form  of  apperception.  It  involves  apperception  on  two 
planes.  There  is  on  the  lower  level  the  actual  judgment 
reached,  which  itself  involves  apperception,  and  there  is  on 
the  higher  level  the  recognition,  in  the  light  of  other  ideas, 
present  in  the  mind  and  guiding  the  process,  that  this 
judgment  fits  into  the  system  constituted  by  those  other 
ideas. 

We  see,  then,  that  all  cognitive  processes  are  forms  of 
attention,  and  that  all  but  the  simplest  forms  involve  some 
degree  of  ideation,  and  may,  therefore,  be  cousidei'ed  as 
forms  of  apperception.  But  we  have  seen  that  it  is  usual 
to  reserve  this  latter  word  for  those  cases  alone  in  which 
some  definite  change  is  made  in  the  mind's  ideational 
content  by  the  examination  of  the  new  material.  Thus, 
when  a  boy  finds  that  a  whale  breathes  air  and  suckles  its 
young,  and  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  not  a  fish, 
but  a  mammal,  he  would  be  said  to  have  performed  a 
process  of  apperception.  But  when,  later,  he  sees  another 
animal  of  the  same  species  and  is  able  to  call  it  a  mammal 
on  account  of  this  previously  acquired  knowledge,  his 
mental  process  would  not,  by  some  writers,  be  called 
apperception,  but  rather  mere  assimilation.  The  tenn 
apperception,  then,  is,  strictly  speaking,  to  be  I'eserved  for 
the  formation  of  new  ideas ;  it  is  to  be  applied  to  ideation 
in  its  productive  aspect,  and  not  to  the  mere  use  of  ideas 
or  judgments  already  made. 

FUND.  PST.  21 


322  ATTENTION. 

This  is  an  important  distinction.  True,  mucli  time  is 
spent  in  employing  ideas  already  formed  rather  than 
in  making  new  ideas  or  new  combinations  of  ideas.  But 
it  is  often  difl&cult  to  say  how  far  a  given  process  is 
productive,  how  far  merely  reproductive.  Further,  even 
in  the  employment  of  old  ideas,  using  them  in  new  judg- 
ments, we  are  not  necessarily  standing  still  in  the  idea- 
tional world.  We  are  to  some  extent  fixing  and  extending 
the  power  of  what  has  already  come  into  existence.  This 
is  a  necessary  preliminary  to  further  advances.  Often, 
indeed,  we  find  that  advances  are  gradually  made  during 
such  exercises.  We  find,  after  a  given  period  employed  in 
this  way,  that,  though  we  cannot  point  to  any  given 
moment  when  a  step  forward  was  taken,  we  have  never- 
theless improved,  if  not  in  the  extent  of  our  knowledge,  at 
any  rate  in  organisation  and  grip.  At  the  same  time  it  is 
necessary  to  point  out  that  the  processes  of  establishing 
and  organising  what  has  been  acquired  can  go  on  too 
long.  We  then  sink  to  a  lifeless  assimilation  of  things  by 
well-known  ideas,  which,  though  it  still  involves  ideas,  has 
dropped  to  a  level  little,  if  at  all,  higher  than  that  of  mere 
perception.  Such  work  has  a  deadening  influence  on  the 
mind.  Exercises  on  newly  acquired  ideas  should  never  be 
carried  on  so  long  that  they  become  quite  mechanical. 
To  take  an  example,  this  caution  was  not  observed  in  the 
days  when  parsing  and  analysis  were  continued  long  after 
the  piipils  thoroughly  understood  the  grammar  involved. 
There  is  a  danger  of  the  same  kind  of  thing  in  arithmetic, 
especially  wdiere  speed  and  accuracy  become  the  chief 
objects  of  the  teacher. 

Sometimes  the  object  which  is  to  be  apperceived 
apj^ears  first,  and  ideas  connected  with  it  on  account  of 
associations  previously  formed  appear  later.  Thus,  I  may 
see  a  dog  somewhat  different  from  any  dog  I  have  seen 
before,  and  this  may  set  me  thinking  of  my  own  dog  at 
home,  as  well  as  of  other  dogs  which  I  have  seen.  I  may 
thus  be  led  to  attend  to  this  present  dog  more  carefully 
than  I  otherwise  should  have  done.  Special  points  are 
noticed,  these  again  involving  the  resuscitation  of  ideas 
based  on  past  experience.     As   a   result  of    the    whole 


ATTENTION.  323 

process  my  knowledge  of  dogs  is  enriched.  I  have 
learned  something.  A  process  of  ajaperception  has  taken 
place. 

Sometimes  the  ideas  requisite  for  apperception  are 
aroused  first,  the  object  to  be  apperceived  presenting  itself 
afterwards.  It  is  fairly  obvious  that  under  these  circum- 
stances, apperception  takes  place  more  rapidly,  and  in  a 
more  definite  way.  This  has,  further,  been  demonstrated 
by  experiments.  When  individuals  are  told  beforehand 
the  kind  of  thing  they  are  to  expect,  they  recognise  and 
name  it  more  quickly  than  when  they  are  not  told.  There 
is  no  interval  necessary  for  the  ideas  to  arise,  and  there  is 
no  uncertainty  as  to  which  ideas  will  arise.  For  it  must 
be  remembered  that  when  the  object  comes  first,  any  one 
quality  or  aspect  out  of  many  may  arrest  attention,  and 
call  up  its  own  associated  ideas,  and,  further,  that,  even  if 
only  one  aspect  attracts  the  atten- 
tion, it  may  in  past  experience  have      v —7 

been   associated   with    many  ideas.       \  / 

Consider,  for  instance,  the  accom-         \ / 

panying  diagram  (Fig.  20).    It  may  Fig.  20. 

be  apperceived  in  various  ways.     If 

the  ideas  aroused  in  connection  with  it  are  of  plane  recti- 
lineal figures  it  may  be  apperceived  as  a  trapezoid.  If  the 
ideas  aroused  are  oi  figures  seen  in  p>erspective,  it  may  be 
taken  for  a  sc^uare  in  a  horizontal  position  a  little  above 
the  level  of  the  eye.  If  the  ideas  aroused  are  of  hats,  it 
may  be  taken  for  a  rough  sketch  of  a  particular  kind  of 
head-gear.  If  I  am  thinking  of  basins,  this  may  be  taken 
for  a  straight-sided  shallow  vessel  seen  on  a  level  with  the 
eye.  If,  however,  I  am  thinking  of  boats,  it  may  be  ap- 
perceived as  an  elementary  form  of  water-vehicle.  It  is, 
therefore,  clear  that,  if  I  ensure  the  arousal  of  certain  ideas 
beforehand,  the  apperception  can  be  determined  swiftly 
and  certainly  in  the  direction  which  I  desire. 

Now  this  is  just  what  the  teacher  has  to  do.  He  has 
not  merely  to  see  that  the  children  attend  to  certain  things, 
but  that  they  attend  to  them  with  a  certain  background 
of  ideas,  so  that  the  process  of  apperception  shall  be  the 
same  in  all  cases,  i.e.  along  the  line  which  ho  intends  the 


324  ATTENTION. 

lesson  to  take.  Accordingly,  he  does  not  merely  present 
objects  to  them,  but  he  sees  that  certain  ideas  are  aroused 
beforehand.  This  preliminary  work  is  known  as  the  pre- 
paration or  introduction.  Obviously  it  is  of  no  use  going 
on  to  the  presentation  of  the  new  material  unless  the 
children  are  able  to  call  up  the  necessary  ideas,  or  apper- 
ception masses,^  wherewith  that  new  material  is  to  be 
apperceived.  The  teacher  must  consider  carefully,  before 
he  decides  on  his  lesson,  whether  the  children  are  likely 
to  possess  the  necessary  preliminary  ideas.  Many  a  lesson 
is  wrecked  on  this  rock.  When  the  lesson  begins,  it  is 
found  that  the  previous  knowledge  of  the  children  is  not 
sufficient  to  enable  them  to  grasp  the  new  material.  Either 
the  teacher  goes  on  to  his  presentation  and  fails  to  make 
himself  understood,  or  else  he  spends  the  whole  lesson- 
period  in  attempting  to  make  good  what  was  wanting,  i.e. 
in  giving  a  lesson  involving  only  the  preliminary  ideas 
which  his  lesson  assumed  as  known  and  as  needing  only 
arousal  in  the  minds  of  the  children.  The  latter  is,  of 
course,  the  better  course.  But  it  is  l)etter  still  to  ascertain 
clearly  what  is  the  state  of  the  children's  minds,  so  that 
the  lesson  best  suited  to  their  stage  of  progress  can  be 
prepared. 

Sometimes  the  teacher,  in  his  anxiety  to  be  sure  of  a 
good  foundation  in  the  knowledge  already  possessed  by 
the  children,  may  underrate  that  knowledge,  and  find  that 
his  proposed  "  new  "  material  is  not  new.  In  this  case,  there 
is  no  apperception.  There  is  merely  assimilation.  And, 
unless  the  children  ai'e  greatly  interested  in  the  subject  for 
other  reasons,  they  will  be  bored,  and  will  show  signs  of 
inattention.  One  of  the  reasons,  therefore,  why  children 
fail  in  attention  is  because  the  teacher  does  not  give  their 
minds  sufficient  scope  for  activity  !  It  is  almost  unnecessary 
to  add  that  such  lessons  are  practically  useless,  since  the 
children  learn  nothing  new. 

This,  however,  does  not  mean  that  all  repetition  of 
lessons  previously  given  is  to  be  tabooed.     We  have  already 

'  Apperception  masses  are  nothing  other  than  the  systeras  of  ideas 
referred  to  in  the  chapters  on  Ideation  and  Reasoning. 


ATTENTION. 


325 


noted  that  the  results  of  a  given  apperception  require  to 
be  firmly  established  and  extended.  And  many  of  our 
school  lessons  consist  of  revisions  of,  and  exercises  upon, 
ideas  which  have  already  been  obtained.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  repetition  is  necessary  when  the  results 
of  the  previous  apperceptive  processes  are  not  firmly 
established,  and  that  consequently  a  repetition  of  those 
processes  still  involves  something  new.  For  the  new  remains 
comparatively  new  until  it  has  been  thoroughly  grasped 
and  retained.  Further,  the  intelligent  teacher  can  set 
about  his  repetitions  in  somewhat  different  fashion,  so  that 
there  is  more  novelty  about  the  revision  than  there  other- 
wise would  be. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  diflficult  task  of  the  teacher  con- 
sists in  selecting  material  which  will  find  already  existing 
in  the  minds  of  the  children  sufficient  knowledge  for 
apperception  to  take  place,  but  not  so  much  that  mere 
assimilation  will  alone  be  necessary. 

This,  therefore,  is  one  of  the  conditions  of  the  higher  or 
appei'ceptive  form  of  attention.  When  ideas  connected 
with  the  new  material  presented  are  already  aroused  in 
the  mind,  attention  to  that  new  material  is  greatly  facili- 
tated. "  This  reinforcement  of  ideas  and  impressions  liy 
the  pre-existing  contents  of  the  mind  Avas  what  Herl)art 
had  in  mind  when  he  gave  the  name  of  apperceptive  atten- 
tion to  the  variety  we  describe.  We  easily  see  now  why 
the  lover's  tap  should  1)e  heard — it  finds  a  nerve-centre 
half  ready  in  advance  to  explode.  We  see  how  Ave  can 
attend  to  a  companion's  voice  in  the  midst  of  noises  which 
pass  unnoticed  though  objectively  much  louder  than  the 
words  we  hear.  Each  word  is  doubly  awakened ;  once 
from  without  by  the  lips  of  the  talker,  but  already  before 
that  from  within  l)y  the  premonitory  processes  irradiating 
from  the  previous  Avords,  and  by  the  dim  arousal  of  all 
pi'ocesses  that  are  connected  with  the  '  topic '  of  the  talk. 
The  irrelevant  noises,  on  the  other  hand,  are  awakened 
only  once.  They  form  an  unconnected  train.  The  boys 
at  school,  inattentive  to  the  teacher  except  when  he  begins 
an  anecdote,  and  then  all  pricking  up  their  ears,  are  as 
easily  explained.     The  Avords  of  tlie  anecdote  shoot   into 


326  ATTENTION, 

association  with  exciting  objects  which  react  and  fix  them  ; 
the  other  words  do  not."  ^ 

It  may  be  noted  that  the  preceding  quotation,  calling 
attention  to  one  of  the  conditions  of  swift  apperception,  is 
itself  favoui'ed  by  that  condition.  For  it  is  introduced  at 
a  time  when  the  necessary  ideas  are  aroused  and  ready 
to  grasp  it. 

But  underlying  the  ideas  is  another  and  still  more 
important  factor  of  the  attention-process — a  factor  which 
will  often  triumph  over  the  difficulties  just  raised  with 
respect  to  the  novelty  of  the  material  presented.  "When 
this  factor  is  strong,  repetition  involving  mere  assimilation 
can  go  on  again  and  again  without  boring.  Little  children 
will  listen  to  the  same  story  times  without  number,  long 
after  they  have  thoroughly  understood  it.  Why  is  this  V 
Because  they  like  it.  But  what  does  this  mean?  It 
means  that  some  of  their  instinctive  and  innate  tendencies 
are  aroused,  and  appealed  to.  Thus  Professor  James 
speaks  of  the  "  lover's  tap."  This  is  not  heard  merely 
because  ideas,  considered  as  cognitive  elements,  make  it 
clearer.  It  is  also,  and  chiefly,  because  those  ideas  are  the 
cognitive  aspects  of  a  strong  tendency.  There  is  nothing 
very  new  about  the  tap.  It  may  have  been  heard  a  hun- 
dred times.  But  it  arovises  the  strong  sentiment  which 
we  call  love.  And  it  is  this  which  is  the  chief  factor  in 
determining  attention  to  it. 

A  very  striking  example  of  the  way  in  which  a  strong 
instinctive  tendency  will  determine  attention,  even  to 
feeble  impressions,  was  given  by  Itard  in  his  observations 
on  the  wild  boy  of  Aveyron.  "  His  ear,"  he  tells  us,  "  was 
of  all  his  senses  the  one  which  appeared  the  least  sensi- 
tive. It  was  noticed  however,  that  the  sovmd  of  a  nut,  or 
of  any  other  eatable  thing  which  he  liked,  never  failed  to 
make  him  turn  round.  This  observation  was  unmistakeable ; 
and  yet,  this  same  organ  was  insensitive  to  the  loudest 
noises  and  even  to  the  explosions  of  fire-arms." ' 

The  mother  who  hears  the  slightest  sound  made  by  her 

'James,  Principhtt  of  P.sycho/ogi/,  Vol.  I.,  p.  450. 

■Itard,  Rapports  et  Memoirts  sur  le  Sauvaye  deV Aveyron,  p.  17. 


ATTENTION.  327 

child,  though  she  may  be  deaf  to  many  louder  noises,  is 
another  example  of  the  same  truth.  Often  the  under- 
lying tendency  is  one  which  is  not  purely  instinctive, 
having  been  developed  into  a  hahit  by  practice  (itself 
dependent  on  other,  and  probably  instinctive,  motives) 
during  the  lifetime  of  the  individual.  The  mother's  ten- 
dency may  partake  of  this  character.  That  of  the  trained 
nurse  is  usually  still  more  of  this  nature.  But  the  fact 
that  the  well-trained  nurse  is  sometimes  superior  in  her 
attention  to  the  mother,  who  depends  more  largely  on 
her  maternal  instinct,  is  instructive  and  encouraging  to 
the  teacher,  showing,  as  it  does,  how  habits  of  attention  can 
be  created  in  cases  where,  if  nature  were  left  to  work 
independently  of  training,  very  little  attention  would  be 
obtained. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  such  habits, 
though  they  cannot  always  be  built  upon  an  innate  ten- 
dency towards  the  object  to  which  attention  is  necessary — 
for  the  simple  reason  that  such  a  tendency  may  be  either 
non-existent  or  quite  insufficient  in  its  force — must  find 
the  motive  power  which  ensures  the  long-continued  prac- 
tice necessary  to  produce  them  in  some  other  innate  ten- 
dencies. The  nurse  who  begins  with  little  love  for  the 
sick  may  yet  become  exceedingly  attentive  because  of  the 
fact  that  she  has  to  get  her  living  by  this  means,  or  be- 
cause, being  filled  with  the  spirit  of  emulation,  she  is 
determined  to  excel,  or  because  she  catches  the  spirit  of 
her  sister  nurses.  A  direct  tendency  to  the  object  in 
question  is  always  the  surest  and  best  means  of  securing 
unremitting  attention  to  that  object.  But  when  this  is  in 
any  degree  lacking,  other  innate  couative  forces  must  be 
tapped,  either  to  supply  its  place,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  rein- 
force it. 

Innate  tendency  can  secui'e  attention  even  when  no  ap- 
perceptive process  takes  place — when  the  object  is  merely 
contemplated,  or  played  with,  or  enjoyed,  without  any- 
further  knowledge  resulting.  But  when  it  is  united  with 
the  play  of  apperception  masses  on  the  object,  so  that 
modifications  of  ideas  ensue,  we  have  the  higher  and 
more  concentrated  form  of  attention  which  wc  have  callc<l 


328  ATTENTION. 

apperception.  The  object  is  not  merely  contemplated  and 
accepted;  but,  in  the  light  of  the  ideas  aroused,  it  stands 
out  as  in  some  respects  strange,  it  awakens  curiosity,  it 
challenges  further  examination,  it  arouses  a  questioning 
attitude.  "  The  awakening  of  this  intellectual  attitude  is 
shown  when  a  child  wants  to  know  more  about  things. 
Then  first  he  really  attends  to  them  as  things."  ^  So  says 
Professor  Welton,  and  he  goes  on  :  "  One  of  my  own 
earliest  remembrances  is,  when  three  or  foui"  years  old, 
cutting  open  a  toy  drum  '  to  see  where  the  noise  came 
from.'  This  certainly  marked  by  an  act  of  attention  the 
liberation  of  an  intellectual  interest."  - 

Professor  Welton  suggests  that  the  word  attention 
should  be  given  only  to  this  higher  apperceptive  process. 
To  indicate  the  lower  form  from  which  it  springs,  and  to 
which  it  tends  to  revert,  if  apperception,  repeated  under 
similar  conditions,  gives  way  to  mere  assimilation  sup- 
ported by  instinctive  and  innate  tendencies,  he  prefers 
the  word  absorption.    He  writes,  for  instance,  as  follows  : — 

"  When  Ave  allow  the  current  of  our  thoughts  to  be 
determined  by  the  objects  around  us,  we  ought  not  to 
speak  of  oiu-selves  as  attentive.  There  is  no  purpose 
working  in  the  line  of  intellectual  or  practical  interest. 
We  make  no  effort  to  determine  what  we  shall  hear  or  see 
next,  we  accept  whatever  comes.  As  an  instance,  let  us 
imagine  ourselves  present  at  a  cinematograph  show.  The 
pictures  may  be  excellent,  and  may  succeed  each  other 
without  bi'eaks,  and  yet  without  any  suggestive  connexion. 
Our  interest  may  be  intense ;  our  whole  consciousness  may 
be  filled  by  the  show ;  we  are  so  absorbed  that  we  notice 
nothing  else.  We  are  full  of  enjoyment.  But  we  are  not 
full  of  thought.  It  is  quite  correct  to  say  we  are  absorbed  ; 
it  is  confusing  and  misleading  to  say  we  are  attentive.  Of 
course,  attention  may  be  present.  If  the  pictiu-es  raise  in 
our  minds  an  attitude  of  enquiry,  if  they  form  a  story- 
series  which  we  try  to  follow  and  grasp  as  a  whole,  then 
so  far  the  direction  of  our  thoughts  is  determined  by  the 
desire  to  understand,  and  we  are  attentive.     Even  then, 

^  Welton,  The  Psychology  of  Education,  p.  240.      -  Ibid. 


ATTENTION.  329 

however,  the  attention  is  quite  subordinate  to  the  emotional 
interest."  ^ 

But  while  this  "  emotional  interest"  is,  by  itself,  of  little 
value  for  intellectual  advancement,  it  must  be  present  in 
some  fonn  as  a  suppoi't  of  the  purely  intellectual  processes. 
The  germs  of  intellectual  interest  are  boiind  up  with  it. 
For  apperception  to  take  place,  therefore,  there  must  be 
present  all  the  cognitive  conditions  which  we  have  noted, 
but  at  the  same  time  there  must  exist  a  strong  conative 
factor.  The  cognitive  machinery  must  be  set  in  motion 
by  conative  force.  Neither  is  of  much  use  without  the 
other.  Yet  when  we  are  occupied  with  consideration  of 
one,  we  tend  to  forget  the  other.  (This  itself  is  an  illus- 
tration of  the  fact,  that  one  object  coming  to  the  focus 
casts  another  into  the  margin.)  Thus,  when  Professor 
Adams  tells  us,  "  In  every  case  attention  owes  its  direc- 
tion to  the  emotional  states  that  accompany  mental  action  ; 
in  other  words,  attention  follows  interest,"  -  we  are  apt  to 
think  that  the  emotional  and  conative  factor  is  the  only 
thing  which  determines  attention.  But  on  the  next  page 
we  are  told  :  <^ Interest  depends  upon  the  apperception 
masses  that  can  be  brought  into  relation  with  the  given 
object.  ...  If  I  want  interest,  I  must  .  .  .  seek  to  find  a 
place  for  it  in  some  respectable  apperception  mass."  '  This 
emphasises  the  cognitive  conditions  ;  and  we  are  now 
tempted  to  consider  these  as  the  only  essentials.  But  both 
sets  of  conditions  are  necessary.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  be 
able  to  understand  an  object,  we  must  be  anxious  or  desir- 
ous to  do  so.  "It  is  true,  that  to  tind  a  book  interesting 
we  must  have  sufficient  knowledge  to  understand  it ;  but 
it  is  not  true  that  we  find  interesting  everything  we  have 
sufficient  knowledge  to  understand." '  "  What  more  deadly 
uninteresting  object  can  there  be  than  a  railroad  time- 
table ?  "  ^  asks  Professor  James.  Many  of  us,  Iiowever, 
can  understand  it.  We  have  the  requisite  "  apperception 
masses."     *'  Yet  where  will  you  find,"  proceeds  Professor 

'  Op.  cit.,  p.  2.37.  *   The  Herhartian  Psycholorjy  applied  to 

Education,  p.  258.      ■'  Op.  cit.,  p.  259.      ''  Welton,  op.  cit., 
p.  187.  ^  Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  95. 


330  ATTENTION. 

James,  "  a  more  interesting  object  if  you  are  going  on  a 
journey,  and  by  its  means  can  find  your  train  ?  "  ^ 

Here,  then,  is  the  secret.  The  "  apperception  masses  " 
will  not  ensure  continued  attention  unless  they  are  asso- 
ciated with  a  sti'ong  conation.  In  the  case  just  cited, 
the  conation  is  not  directly  concerned  with  the  object  with 
which  the  "  apperception  masses  "  deal.  But  it  requires 
a  knowledge  of  that  object  in  order  to  attain  its  end.'^  Iq 
such  a  case  the  interest  in  the  object  is  derived  from  the 
interest  in  the  end  to  which  a  knowledge  of  that  object  is 
a  necessary  step.  Such  interest  is,  therefore,  called  derived 
interest.  Often,  however,  the  conation  is  towards  the  very 
object  with  which  the  "  apperception  mass  "  is  concerned. 
Thus,  a  boy  who  is  fond  of  cricket  will  watch  a  famous 
batsman  with  the  utmost  attention,  noting  all  his  strokes 
and  attitudes.  He  both  imderstands  and  loves  the  game. 
His  interest  is  direct.  Another  may  understand  the  game 
as  much,  but  may  not  be  so  keen  on  it.  His  attention  will 
not  be  so  concentrated.  His  apperception  masses  are  as 
numerous  and  as  w^ell  organised.  His  interest  is  also 
direct.  But  it  is  less  powerful ;  in  other  words,  he  has 
not  such  a  strong  tendency  to  this  kind  of  material.  Or 
take  an  example  fi'om  school  Avork.  Suppose  two  boys 
Avho  know  the  same  amount  of  geography,  but  one  of 
whom  has  acquired  a  liking  for  it,  w^hile  the  other  has 
learned  the  same  amount  under  compulsion.  Give  each 
of  them  a  readable  geographical  book.  One  will  devour 
its  pages,  while  the  other  will  possibly  not  care  to  peruse 
it  at  all. 

We  see,  then,  that  the  "  apperception  masses,"  con- 
sidered as  mere  ideas  capable  of  revival,  are  only  machi- 
nery which  may  produce  continued  attention.  They  are, 
it  is  true,  absolutely  necessary  for  continued  attention 
along  certain  lines.  And  we  have  already  considered  their 
manner  of  functioning.  To  use  another  metaphor,  they 
are  the  rails  laid  down  along  which  the  train  of  thought 


1   Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  95. 

-  See  a  similar  example  quoted  from  Prof essor  Adams  on  page  186 
of  this  book. 


ATTENTION.  381 

may  move  and  without  which  it  could  not  move.  To  this 
extent  they  can  be  said  to  determine  attention.  But  unless 
the  engine  has  motor  power,  or,  to  drop  all  metaphor, 
unless  there  is  conation  or  interest,  there  will  be  no  push- 
ing forward. 

Usually,  of  course,  and  especially  after  some  experience, 
where  there  is  interest  there  are  also  many  ideas  connected 
with  the  object,  and  vice  versa.  We  should  be  sceptical 
about  the  declaration  of  interest  in  cricket  by  a  boy  who 
could  not  tell  us  much  about  the  game.  And  when  we 
find  a  person  knowing  much  about  a  subject  we  are  apt  to 
conclude  that  he  is  interested  in  the  subject.  But  this  is 
not  always  the  case,  as  we  have  seen  in  some  of  the  ex- 
amples kitely  cited.  To  mention  another,  a  man  may 
know  a  good  deal  about  prisons,  but  he  may  not  care  to 
talk  or  think  of  them.  The  sight  of  one  may  cause  ex- 
treme aversion.  When,  however,  the  ideas  possessed  are 
interesting  to  the  individual,  i.e.  when  they  involve  strong 
conative  forces  which  are  aroused  with  them,  we  get  con- 
tinued attention,  guided  by  the  ideas,  and  sustained  by  the 
conation. 

All  that  we  have  noted  m;iy  be  summed  up  by  the  state- 
ment which  has  already  been  made  much  earlier  in  this 
book,  viz.  klisit  cognition  exists  and  functions  in  the  service 
of  conation!  When  we  lay  down  the  conditions  of  cogni- 
tion as  such,  we  must  always  remember  that  they  cannot 
be  effective  unless  conation  arises.  Appercejitive  attention, 
thei'efore,  although  it  can  only  proceed  with  its  "  apper- 
ception masses,"  cannot  be  accounted  for  by  mere  refer- 
ence to  them.  It  must  have  conation,  or  interest,  behind 
it. 

The  teacher's  great  task  is  to  secure  attention  to  the 
things  about  which  he  has  to  talk.  And  the  more  he 
can  understand  of  the  conditions  whicli  determine  atten- 
tion, the  more  likely  he  is  so  to  arrange  matters  that  he 
gets  attention  directed  in  the  desired  direction.  The  usual 
advice  given  to  the  young  teacher  is  that  he  should 
interest  the  children  in  the  lessons.  Often,  liowever,  when 
he  seeks  to  know  what  it  is  to  be  interested,  ho  docs  not 
get  further  than  the  statement  that  it  means  to  be  deeply 


332  ATTENTION. 

attentive.  But  this  is  no  solution  at  all.  It  is  only  sub- 
stituting one  word  for  another.  If  the  word  interest  is  to 
be  of  any  use  to  the  teacher,  it  must  mean  something 
other  than  attention  itself. 

Sometimes  the  word  intered  is  used  to  signify  the  whole 
state  or  process  of  which  attention  is  one  aspect.  It  thus 
includes  all  the  conditions  as  well  as  the  attention  itself. 
Sometimes  the  woi'd  is  specialised  to  I'efer  to  the  hedonic 
tone  of  the  process.  But  we  have  already  a  number  of 
terms  for  this,  such  as  pleasure-pain,  feeling,  affection,  as 
well  as  the  one  just  employed.  Probably  the  most  useful 
meaning  we  can  give  to  interest  is  that  which  it  must  have 
in  such  a  sentence  as  :  Interest  determines  attention. 

Now  here  it  might  be  pointed  out  that  the  object 
itself  is  one  factor.  Without  an  object  we  could  not 
attend.  But  it  is  usual  to  take  this  for  granted,  and  to 
limit  the  meaning  of  interest  to  the  subjective  conditions, 
the  state  of  the  mind  which  determines  attention  to  that 
object.  Interest  would  thus  include  the  cognitive  and 
conative  conditions  which  we  have  lately  been  examining. 
Thus,  if  I  ask  why  a  man  attends  to  all  the  actions  and 
expressions  of  his  little  son,  the  answer  is  that  he  loves 
him.  In  other  words  he  has  developed  a  strong  psycho- 
physical disposition  which  involves  a  great  many  ideas 
with  respect  to  the  boy,  the  liability  to  experience  certain 
emotions  in  connection  with  certain  situations  of  that 
object,  and  the  tendency  to  act  or  attend  in  certain  Avays 
— in  short,  he  has  developed  a  strong  and  well-organised 
sentiment  of  parental  love. 

Now  the  most  characteristic  and  the  most  fundamental 
feature  in  all  this  is  the  conative.  It  is  well,  therefore,  to 
give  to  the  word  interest,  as  the  central  and  most  important 
pai't  of  its  signification,  the  meaning  conation,  always 
remembering  that  conation  does  not  exist  by  itself,  but  is 
accompanied  and  directed  by  ideas  and  by  emotional  and 
affective  states. 

This  is  largely  in  harmony  with  Professor  Stout's  point 
of  view.  He  writes :  "  Attention  may  be  defined  as 
interest  determining  cognitive  process.  When  I  am 
interested  in  an  object,  the  satisfaction  of  my  interest  may 


ATTENTION.  333 

depend  partly  or  wholly  on  a  fuller,  more  distinct,  or  more 
prolonged  presence  of  the  object  to  cognitive  conscious- 
ness. So  far  as  this  is  the  case,  the  self-fulfilment  of  my 
interest  is  attention."  ^ 

Now  we  may  not  be  giving  exactly  the  same  meanings 
to  the  words  as  Professor  Stout ;  but  we  shall  not  be  far 
wrong,  and  we  shall  at  any  rate  be  making  the  matter  a 
little  more  definite,  if  we  take  interest  as  meaning, 
above  and  before  everything  else,  conation.  As  for  atten- 
tion, we  have  seen  that  it  is  an  essential  element  or  aspect 
of  all  cognitive  process.  Just  as  we  cannot  have  matter 
without  weight,  so  we  cannot  have  cognitive  process  with- 
out attention.  If  cognitive  process  is  to  take  place,  we 
must  have  attention  ;  and,  conversely,  if  attention  is  to  be 
aroused,  some  sort  of  cognitive  process  must  be  possible. 
Hence  the  conditions  of  cognitive  process  are  also  con- 
ditions of  attention.  We  may  say,  then,  that  attention  is, 
on  the  one  hand,  subject  to  the  laws  of  cognitive  process, 
and,  on  the  other,  is  aroused,  or  caused  ])y,  conation. 
It  is  the  expression  of  conation  in  the  cognitive  sphere. 
Or,  "  if  we  care  to  use  a  bold  metaphor,  we  may  say  that 
attention  is  the  light  used  by  conation  to  make  out  its 
path.  Only  we  must  remember  that  attention  is  no 
external  illumination,  but  is  simply  identical  with  cona- 
tion considered  in  its  cognitive  aspect."  -  The  problem, 
therefore,  of  discovering  the  determinants  of  attention  is 
that  of  tracing  the  conditions  of  cognitive  process  or 
apperception  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  unearthing  of  the 
conations,  which  are  the  driving  force  of  that  cognitive 
process,  on  the  other.  With  the  former  we  have  already 
dealt  at  some  length.  It  remains  to  say  something  of  the 
latter  and  more  fundamental. 

But  we  liave  already  noted  a  great  deal  with  i-espect 
to  the  conditions  of  conation  in  preceding  chapters.  All 
this,  therefore,  applies  to  the  determination  of  attention. 
We  have  not  a  new  problem  on  our  hands.  The  problem 
of  securing  right  conduct,  that  is,  the  right  direction  of 

'  Stout,  G'roundivork  of  Psycholorfy,  p.  48. 
-  Stout,  Manual  of  Psychology,  p.  257. 


334  ATTENTION. 

conation,  is  the  same  as  that  of  securing  the  right  direc- 
tion of  attention.  At  the  moment  when  a  certain  thing 
is  to  be  done,  the  last  thing  we  can  trace  in  consciousness 
is  attention  to  the  idea  of  that  thing  being  done.  Behind 
this  is  the  mysterious  force  which  we  call  conation,  the 
tendency  of  the  idea  to  work  itself  out.  And  if  there  is 
sufficient  conation  to  suppress  counteracting  ideas,  the 
idea  does  work  itself  out,  and  we  have  a  corresponding 
movement. 

Attention,  then,  may  properly  be  called  the  cognitive 
aspect  of  conation.  If  we  descend  to  the  lower  levels  of 
conation,  as  found  in  the  lower  animals  and  in  young 
infants,  there  is,  of  course,  no  definite  cognitive  aspect: 
we  speak  of  such  conation  as  blind  craving.  But  as  the 
mind  develops,  conation  becomes  enlightened,  and  it  can 
achieve  its  ends  only  through  cognition,  i.e.  it  requires 
attention  to  guide  it.  And  this  is  so,  whether  its  course 
lies  through  a  certain  series  of  actions,  or  through  a  train 
of  ideas.  In  the  former  case,  there  must  be  attention  to 
the  ideas  of  the  actions  ;  in  the  latter,  to  the  ideas  involved 
in  the  subject  of  reflexion.  There  is  a  vast  difference 
between  the  two  courses  which  conation  may  take.  In  the 
one  case  movements  take  place  and  bring  their  products 
(e.g.  kinsesthetic  sensations  and  new  touch  and  sight 
sensations)  into  consciousness ;  in  the  other,  further  ideas 
and  images  arise  in  consciousness.  But  in  both  cases 
attention  is  the  means  whereby  conation  proceeds. 

We  have  seen  that  the  roots  of  conation  are  the 
instincts  and  innate  tendencies  of  the  child.  It  is  clear, 
therefore,  that  the  teacher  who  desires  to  get  attention 
must  appeal  to  these.  It  is  of  no  use  to  fight  against 
nature.  It  is  of  no  use  to  say :  The  children  must  attend 
to  this  in  the  way  I  prescribe.  The  teacher  must  rather 
ask  himself  :  Are  the  children  of  such  a  nature  that  they 
will  attend  to  this  in  the  way  I  propose  ?  It  is  of  little 
use,  for  instance,  to  propose  for  young  children  of  seven 
an  oral  lesson  on  geographical  terms,  lasting  forty-five 
minutes,  and  without  any  illustration.  In  the  first  place 
such  a  lesson  is  largely  meaningless  to  the  children.  For 
the  basis  of  ideation  must  be  laid  in  active  perception  and 


ATTENTION.  335 

observation.  So  much  for  the  cognitive  conditions.  Next 
of  the  eonative.  Even  if  it  were  not  entirely  meaningless, 
such  a  lesson  would  still  be  out  of  place  at  this  age.  For 
very  little  conation  could  be  aroused  in  connection  with 
the  abstract  ideas  proposed.  Healthy  young  children 
cannot  remain  still  for  such  a  long  period.  They  must  be 
doing  something. 

A  strong  disciplinarian  may  assert  that  he  has 
succeeded  in  holding  attention  in  this  way.  But  he 
has  not  done  so  in  spite  of  nature.  Without  perhaps 
being  aware  of  it,  he  has  been  making  use  of  the  children's 
instinctive  and  innate  tendencies.  His  personality  may  be 
of  so  dominating  a  kind  that  he  has  reduced  the  children 
to  a  state  of  complete  subjection.  He  has  in  a  measure 
hypnotised  his  class,  so  that  they  follow  him  to  some 
extent  through  courses  of  ideation  which  they  do  not 
clearly  understand,  and  which  they  would  not  follow  if 
they  were  not  reduced  to  the  condition  in  question. 
Finally,  he  may  have  aroused  in  them  so  great  a  fear  of 
punishment,  that  they  are  willing  to  follow  with  docility 
any  line  of  thought  rather  than  come  under  his  dis- 
pleasure. But  this  is  not  the  most  satisfactory  appeal  to 
the  children.  The  knowledge  acquii'ed  is  largely  verbal, 
and  is  certainly  distasteful.  The  final  test  of  all  our 
teaching  is  the  interest  which  the  children  take  in  the 
subject.  The  school  which  turns  out  its  pupils  with  no 
tendencies  to  go  on  with  their  studies  by  themselves  has 
failed  in  the  chief  purpose  of  a  school.  When  this 
dominating  personality  is  removed  from  the  lives  of  the 
children,  they  are  left  dead  and  lifeless  with  respect  to  the 
subjects  which  he  taught. 

Let  us  take  another  example.  Little  children  in  the 
early  stages  of  reading  are  often  expected  to  look  on  their 
books  and  point,  while  one  of  their  companions  is 
laboriously  struggling  with  word -recognition.  Often  the 
same  fciragraijh  is  read  over  and  over  again.  It  is  obvious 
to  all  but  the  most  stupid  that  work  of  this  description 
does  not  appeal  to  the  intelligence  of  the  children,  and 
that  there  is  no  possibility  of  sufficient  conation  arising 
in  connection  with  such  an  occupation  to  determine  close 


336  ATTENTION. 

attention.  Even  if  the  matter,  as  read  the  first  time,  is 
interesting,  and  is  understood  by  the  children,  the  slow 
repetition  of  the  words,  over  and  over  again,  by  dull 
scholars,  renders  the  whole  business  distasteful.  We 
have  only  to  suppose  ourselves  treated  in  the  same  way 
with  respect  to  a  novel,  to  realise  that  it  is  an  exceedingly 
tiresome  business. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ?  In  the  first  place  we  should 
put  books  into  the  hands  of  children  only  when  they  can 
read  most  of  the  words  with  some  degree  of  fluency.  They 
should  then  be  helped  rapidly  over  the  difficult  words  by 
the  teacher,  or  by  their  more  advanced  comi'ades  (who 
will  thus  have  something  to  do).  The  books  should 
contain  tales  which  are  extremely  interesting  to  the 
children.  And  the  reading  of  a  tale  should  not  be 
repeated  unless  the  children  themselves  desire  it.  It 
goes  without  saying  that  a  large  number  of  books  will  be 
required  if  this  method  is  pursued.  When  once  they  have 
been  procured,  they  will  last  for  a  long  time.  For  they 
will  be  used  less,  and  they  will  not  be  worn  out  by  the 
rough  treatment  of  children  who  are  disgusted  with  them. 
Very  soon,  too,  a  single  new  book  will  suffice  for  a  lesson 
from  time  to  time.  Individuals  can  take  turns  in  reading 
to  the  class.  In  this  way  the  necessity  for  clear  speaking 
will  be  brought  home  to  the  children.  Insistence  on  it 
should  not  be  allowed  to  spoil  the  interest  of  the  early 
lessons,  during  which,  since  all  the  children  have  books, 
clear  speaking  is  not  absolutely  essential. 

The  question  still  remains — How  is  the  preliminary 
knowledge  of  words  to  be  obtained  ?  It  can,  perhaps,  be 
gained  most  expeditiously  on  the  Look-and-Say  plan,  in 
which  the  children  have  as  much  to  do  as  possible.  The 
teacher  prints  words  on  cards,  beginning  "with  the  names 
of  the  children  themselves,  and  with  names  of  things  in  the 
school-room.  These  might  even  be  fixed  upon  the  things 
to  which  they  refer,  during  the  early  stages.  Interesting 
competitions  are  organised  in  which  children  are  tested  in 
the  recognition  of  words  shown  for  an  instant  only. 

Sentence-building  (not  tt'orr^building)  is  then  indulged 
in.    The  teacher  puts  a  number  of  words  together  to  make 


ATTENTION.  337 

a  sentence.  The  children  have  little  boxes  containing  these, 
and  other  words,  and  they  are  directed  to  find  the  words 
required,  and  to  arrange  them  to  form  the  same  sentence. 
The  sentence  is  modified  by  the  teacher,  and  the  scholars 
modify  their  own  imitations.  Those  who  get  done  first  are 
invited  to  make  up  sentences  from  the  other  words  con- 
tained in  their  boxes,  and  they  should  be  allowed  to  read 
these  afterwards.  Both  in  selecting  and  in  rejecting 
words  from  their  boxes,  the  children  are  engaged  in  word- 
recognition,  which  is  the  essential  business  of  reading. 
And,  if  fairly  interesting  sentences  are  made  and  talked 
about,  the  children  will  become  apt  in  seizing  the  meaning 
of  a  number  of  words  linked  together.  By  such  exercises 
as  these  the  children  very  soon  become  familiar  with  the 
most  common  words,  and  are  able  to  read  and  understand 
easy  sentences.  They  can  then  receive  books.  And  they 
should  plunge  into  them  rapidly,  being  helped  as  much  as 
is  necessary  by  the  teacher.  The  chief  object  should  be  to 
tide  over  the  dull  business  of  word-recognition  quickly 
and  pleasantly,  and  to  arouse  the  true  motive  for  reading — 
interest  in  the  matter — as  early  as  possible.^ 

It  is  impossible  in  a  work  of  this  scope  to  cover  the 
whole  field,  and  to  show  how,  in  every  subject,  the  teacher 
must  be  sure  both  that  the  children  understand  what  they 
are  about  and  that  they  have  sufiicieut  conative  force  to 
carry  the  business  through.  Many  "  born  "  teachers,  i.e. 
teachers  who  are  naturally  sympathetic  with  children,  and 
enter  into  their  lives,  understand  their  business  fairly  well, 
without  ever  having  made  a  distinct  study  of  psychology. 
Tliey  have,  however,  been  studying  psychology,  though 
sub-consciously,  in  the  school-room. 

In  a  sense,  the  whole  of  this  book  deals  with  the 
conditions  of  attention.  For  it  treats  on  the  one  hand  of 
the  conditions  of  cognition  and  its  development,  and  on 
the  other  of  the  conative  forces  which  drive  cognition 
onwards.     To  sum  up  the  whole  matter,  the  children  must 

'  For  a  fuller  sketch  of  the  meth(jd  proposed  see  the  author's 
description  of  Learn iiig  to  Read  in  the  last  chapter  of  the  Science  of 
Speech  (University  Tutorial  Press,  2s.  Cd.). 

JbUND.  rsY,  22 


338  ATTENTION. 

have  presented  to  them  things  which  they  can  grasp  with 
due  effort,  and  they  must  have  sufficient  motives  to  cause 
them  to  grapple  with  those  things. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  among 
the  most  important  essentials  to  the  best  efforts  of  atten- 
tion ai'e,  on  the  one  hand,  a  healthy,  vigorous  body,  free 
from  fatigue  or  from  any  other  disturbing  condition,  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  favourable  environment,  especially 
one  Avhich  contains  no  objects  likely  to  intei'fere  with  the 
course  of  thought  or  observation.  These  things,  though 
not  in  themselves  mental  factors,  are  the  physical  con- 
comitants of  much  that  is  mental.  Thus  the  healthier  and 
more  vigorous  the  body,  the  stronger  will  be  the  conative 
forces  aroused.  Further,  any  disturbing  element,  whether 
of  the  nature  of  painful  impressions  due  to  bodily  con- 
ditions or  of  the  natm-e  of  pleasant  or  painful  percepts  of 
things  around,  always  acts  as  a  competitor  for  attention, 
thus  weakening,  and  sometimes  overwhelming,  the  attention 
in  the  desired  direction.  We  cannot,  therefore,  exjiect 
children  to  attend  successfully  to  a  difficult  lesson  when 
they  are  tired,  or  oppressed  by  hot,  damp  weather,  or 
disturbed  by  noises  and  other  happenings.  Just  as  the 
athlete  who  wishes  to  accomplish  a  good  performance, 
especially  if  he  desires  to  break  a  record,  selects  a  time 
when  both  he  and  his  conditions  are  at  their  best,  so  the 
teacher  who  has  to  give  a  lesson  demanding  much  concen- 
tration of  thought  on  the  part  of  the  boys  would  do  well 
to  arrange  it  for  the  most  favourable  time  of  the  day. 
Many  a  lesson  has  been  a  failure  cliiefly  because  of  the 
fact  that  it  demanded  much  carefvil  attention  at  a  time 
when  the  boys  wei*e  not  in  a  condition  to  render  it. 


Questions  on  Chapter  XV. 

1.  What  is  meant  by   attention  1     How  can  it  be  cultivated  in 
children  ? 

2.  Explain  and  illustrate  the  statement,  "  Right  methods  produce 
interest." 


ATTENTION.  339 

3.  What  is  interest,  and  how  is  it  related  to  attention  ? 

4.  What  do  you  understand  by  (vpperceptive  attention  ? 

5.  "A  teacher  niu?t  not  expect  a  child  to  be  interested  in  that  of 
which  he  is  wholly  ignorant."  How  does  this  bear  on  the  method 
of  teaching  ? 

6.  Why  do  we  fail  to  remember  what  does  not  interest  lis  ? 

7.  If  j'ou  found  the  class  yoil  were  teaching  getting  listless  and 
sleepy,  what  causes  would  you  suppose  to  be  at  work,  and  what 
would  be  your  remedies  ? 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


Attention  . — II. 

Various  kinds  of  attention  have  been  distinguished, 
and  classifications  based  on  different  features  have  been 
made.  To  take  an  analogy  from  common  life,  we  might 
classify  men  according  to  height,  to  age,  or  to  profession.  It 
is  obvious  that  we  should  have  considerable  overlapping. 
So  with  attention.  We  have  seen  that  it  depends  on 
both  cognitive  and  conative  conditions.  Classifications 
may  therefore  be  made  according  to  either  of  these  sets  of 
conditions.  We  shall  first  consider  two  cognitive  classifi- 
cations— (I.)  one  founded  on  the  natvu-e  of  the  object,  and 
(II.)  one  founded  on  the  cognitive  condition  of  the  mind 
to  which  the  object  is  presented.  Lastly,  we  shall  con- 
sider the  most  important  classification  of  all,  viz.  (III.) 
that  founded  upon  the  nature  of  the  conations  involved. 

I. — Attention  can  be  classified  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  object  to  which  attention  is  paid.  We  then  get  (I) 
attention  to  objects  of  sense,  and  (2)  attention  to  ideal  or 
represented  objects.  It  is  obvious  that  we  begin  life  with 
the  former,  and  that  the  latter  is  derived  from  it  as 
experience  proceeds.  But  after  a  little  development  the 
two  become  inextricably  mixed.  We  often  attend  to 
objects  and  to  ideas  Avhich  have  become  associated  with 
them,  at  almost  the  same  time.  Still,  it  remains  true 
that  attention  to  objects  of  sense  is  often  an  aid  in  attend- 
ing to  ideas.  The  percept,  especially  with  young  children, 
is  usually  a  more  impressive  thing  than  the  idea.  It 
comes  with  all  the  force  of  sense- stimulation  behind  it. 
And  the  teacher  of  young  children,  even  when  he  wishes 

340 


ATTENTION. 


341 


to  direct  their  cattention  chiefly  to  ideas,  makes  free  use  of 
the  concrete.  Pictures,  diagrams,  models,  and  often  the 
actual  objects,  are  freely  used  in  schools.  Not  always 
because  attention  is  desired  principally  to  them,  but  often 
because  they  facilitate  attention  to  certain  ideas. 

II. — Attention  may  also  be  classified  according  to  the 
cogtiitive  condition  of  the  mind  to  ivhich  the  object  is  pre- 
sented. This  gives  us  in  the  first  place  (I)  the  primitive 
form  of  attention,  which  is  given  either  (a)  to  objects  that 
strike  us,  without  any  warning  or  preparation  on  our  part, 
by  reason  of  the  intensity,  voluminousness,  painfulness,  or 
suddenness  of  the  impressions  made,  or  (6)  to  objects 
which  appeal  to  some  special  instinct  or  innate  tendency. 

In  the  second  place,  we  have  (2)  apperceptive  attention, 
which  must,  of  course,  have  an  object  (sensorial  or  repre- 
sented) but  which  depends  largely  for  its  direction 
towards  any  particular  aspect  of  the  object  studied,  on 
those  ideas  connected  with  the  object  which  the  mind 
summons  up  before  or  after  the  moment  of  presentation. 

(1)  (a)  The  first  of  the  two  primitive  forms  of  atten- 
tion just  mentioned  may  be  called  enforced  attention.  It 
is  the  attention  which  is  compelled  by  a  loud  noise,  a  liright 
light,  a  painful  organic  sensation  suddenly  shooting  into 
consciousness,  or  a  disagreaable  idea  olitruding  upon  us. 
It  is  an  extreme  instance  of  the  general  cognitive  condition 
of  all  attention,  viz.  that  there  must  he  something  to  attend 
to.  The  more  striking  that  something  is,  the  more  likely 
will  it  be  to  attract  attention  independently  of  other  con- 
ditions. It  may  thus  determine  a  response  on  its  own 
account,  irrespectively  of  any  special  pre-formed  psycho- 
physical disposition.  This  response  is  a  simple  form  of 
conation,  and,  as  such,  involves  attention.  The  conation 
aroused  in  this  way,  however,  is  an  isolated  reaction ;  it  is, 
as  it  were ,^  a  return  to  e<juilil)rium  after  a  disturbance. 
And  if  there  is  no  connection  between  it  and  other  portions 
of  the  stream  of  consciousness,  it  speedily  dies  down. 

Enforced  attention  is  sometimes  called  involuntarij  atten- 
tion, in  order  to  distinguish  it  from  tliose  forms  wliich 
are   due   to  the  arousal   of   strong  organised  tendencies, 


342  ATTENTION. 

and  wliich  are  hence  called  voluntary  by  some  ■writers.  But  if 
the  word  voluntary  could  be  used  to  signify  the  presence  of 
any  conation,  we  could  perhaps  allow  it  to  be  applied  even 
to  enforced  attention.  As  we  have  seen,  an  elementary 
and  isolated  conation  is  involved.  In  some  cases,  indeed, 
definite  instinctive  tendencies  are  aroused.  Thus,  in  cases 
of  sudden  shock  there  is  nearly  always  a  tinge  of  fear. 
In  so  far  as  this  is  the  case,  however,  it  can  be  pointed  out 
that  the  attention  is  not  purely  enforced,  but  mixed  with 
that  variety  which  depends  on  definite  innate  or  instinctive 
tendencies,  and  which  we  have  referred  to  as  the  second 
form  of  primitive  attention.  And  since  the  word  voluntary 
is  usually  employed  with  reference  to  these  more  definite 
tendencies,  it  is  well  to  avoid  using  it  in  the  present 
instance.  We  shall  find  later  that  it  is  sometimes  refused 
even  to  cases  of  instinctive  tendency,  and  specialised  to 
signify  a  still  "  higher "'  form  of  attention.  Now  a  word 
which  is  used  in  such  varying  fashion  is  likely  to  lead  to 
much  confusion.  This,  indeed,  has  been  the  case  to  a 
remarkable  extent.  Accordingly  the  word  voluntary  (as 
well  as  involuntary  and  non-voluntary)  is  best  avoided 
altogether. 

It  is  obvious  that  enforced  attention,  by  itself,  is  not  of 
much  value  to  the  teacher.  Weak  teachers,  failing  to 
secure  the  attention  of  the  scholars  by  any  other  means, 
often  resort  excessively  to  it.  They  are  given  to  shouting, 
to  banging  on  the  desks,  to  ringing  a  bell,  and,  in  general, 
to  producing  a  series  of  shocks.  As  we  have  seen,  how- 
ever, these  obtain  only  a  momentary  reaction.  And  this 
reaction  is  made  to  the  person  or  thing  creating  the  noise, 
not  to  the  subject  of  the  lesson.  Further,  such  shocks  lose 
their  effect  by  constant  repetition.  We  soon  become 
habituated  to  continual  noise.  It  is  change  which  is  the 
real  cause  of  the  effect  produced.  And  when  a  teacher 
has  been  shouting  for  a  long  time,  the  best  way  of 
securing  enforced  attention  would  be  to  stop  suddenly,  or 
to  drop  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  The  intelligent  teacher  is 
aware  of  this,  and  while  he  finds  it  necessary  sometimes 
to  raise  his  voice,  he  more  frequently  drops  it,  or  stops 
altogether.     He  knows  the  value  of  the  pause. 


ATTENTION.  343 

We  have  just  noted  tlie  evils  of  excessive  appeals  to 
enforced  attention.  It  is,  however,  appai'ent  that  it  has 
its  place.  No  teacher  can  afford  to  neglect  any  means  of 
securing  attention.  And  variety  is  of  great  importance. 
While,  therefore,  this  form  of  attention  is  not  to  be  chiefly 
relied  on,  it  may  continually  assist  the  other  forms.  With 
young  children  especially,  there  must  be  frequent  changes 
in  the  method  of  attack.  And  apart  from,  and  in  addition 
to,  vai'iations  in  the  method  itself,  the  voice  should  be 
ever  changing.  Not,  of  course,  in  haphazard  fashion, 
merely  to  secure  some  enforced  attention,  but  in  harmony 
with  the  subject.  There  are  three  ways  in  which  the 
voice  can  change — in  pitch,  in  loudness,  and  in  speed. 
In  sympathy  with  the  treatment  of  the  subject,  continual 
changes  should  be  rvmg  on  these.  Even  when  other 
features  of  a  lesson  are  good,  a  monotonous  voice  is  a 
serious  drawback. 

The  teacher  should  not  only  recognise  that  enforced 
attention  may  be  his  ally,  but  he  should  remember  that  it 
may  also  be  used  against  him.  He  should  do  all  he  can, 
therefore,  to  prevent  any  occasion  of  disturbance.  The 
more  a  teacher  recognises  that  attention  is  subject  to 
definite  laws,  the  less  will  he  be  inclined  to  become  angry 
when  he  loses  it.  He  will  rather  be  induced  to  inquire 
into  the  causes  of  the  diversion  of  attention.  Instead  of 
storming  at  a  child  who  turns  round  when  the  door  opens 
behind  him,  the  teacher  should  recognise  that  the  child 
has  done  a  natural  thing,  a  thing  which  many  an  adult 
would  do,  even  when  listening  to  an  interesting  lecture. 
And  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to  avoid  such  distiu-bances, 
both  from  without  and  from  within  the  room.  He  will 
see  to  it  that  when  he  is  presenting  something  to  his 
scholars  there  is  no  other  thing  which  is  likely  to  be  more 
striking. 

(b)  As  we  have  already  noted,  the  second  form  of 
primitive  attention,  tliat  due  to  the  excitation  of  some 
primitive  instinct  or  innate  tendency,  is  often  mi.xed  with 
the  first,  and  is  sometimes  only  to  be  distinguished  from 
it  with  great  difiiculty.  But,  as  we  saw  in  the  chapter  on 
the    Instincts   and    Innate    Tendencies,   there   are   some 


344  ATTENTION. 

objects  which,  apart  from  the  intensity,  or  suddenness, 
or  voluminousuess,  or  painfulness,  of  their  impressions 
(though,  of  course,  they  must  possess  some  of  these  quali- 
ties  in  some  degree),  attract  attention  by  virtue  of  the 
fact  that  they  "  touch  off "  an  innate  psycho-physical 
disposition.  All  the  instinctive  and  innate  tendencies  are 
excited  in  this  way  by  certain  objects.  When  these 
objects  are  presented,  therefore,  attention  is  given  spon- 
taneously to  them.  Such  objects  do  not  produce  the  same 
kind  of  impression  on  different  animals,  and  even  in  the 
same  species  they  vary  in  their  effect  because  of  the  vary- 
ing degrees  of  completeness  in  which  the  psycho-physical 
dispositions  are  found.  In  the  human  race,  however,  we 
can  say  that  strange  things,  moving  things,  wild  animals, 
bright  things,  metallic  things,  spoken  words,  and  blood — 
not  to  mention  many  other  objects — frequently  arouse 
the  primitive  form  of  attention  which  we  are  consider- 
ing. We  may  call  this  form,  to  distinguish  it  from 
enforced  attention,  by  the  name  of  primitive  spontaneous 
attention. 

There  is  one  tendency  which  is  so  general  that  it  is 
liable  to  be  overlooked — the  tendency  to  seek  pleasure  and 
to  avoid  pain.  Since  some  amount  of  pleasure-pain  occurs 
in  connection  witli  all  experiences,  appetition  and  aversion 
are  always  present  in  some  degree  to  modify  and  com- 
plicate the  effects  of  other  conations.  Thus  both  enforced 
and  primitive  spontaneous  attention  are  affected  by  the 
hedonic  tone  which  is  created.  We  have  noted,  for 
instance,  as  an  example  of  enforced  attention,  the  effect  of 
a  bright  light.  Such  an  object  compels  attention.  Yet, 
Professor  James  Avrites :  "  The  infant  notices  the  candle 
flame  or  the  window,  and  ignores  the  rest  of  tlie  room, 
because  these  objects  give  him  a  vivid  pleasure."  ^  This, 
however,  is  not  out  of  harmony  with  the  statement  that  a 
bright  light  enforces  attention,  but  is  merely  supplementary 
to  it.  To  take  another  example  from  enforced  attention, 
it  was  pointed  out  that  a  painful  organic  sensation  may 
obtrude  itself  upon  us.    In  this  case,  the  pain,  having  first 

'  Principles  of  P><ychoIogy,  Vol.  II.,  p.  345. 


ATTENTION.  346 

contributed  to  compel  attention,  sets  up  aversion,  a  ten- 
dency to  get  away  from  the  object,  and  we  find  accord- 
ingly a  shrinking  from  the  sensation,  and  a  disposition  to 
attend,  if  possible,  to  something  else. 

To  take  an  example  from  the  second  variety  of  primitive 
attention,  moving  things  seem  to  attract  our  attention 
because  of  an  instinctive  tendency  to  notice  them ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  a  certain  amount  of  pleasure  may 
be  derived  from  the  experience,  and  this  awakens  ap  - 
petition,  which  brings  an  increment  of  attention.  As 
we  have  seen,  all  our  tendencies  produce  pleasui-e  when 
satisfied  by  their  appropriate  objects,  and  this  pleasure 
invokes  further  conation,  which  means  increased  at- 
tention. The  way  in  which  pleasure  and  pain  mingle 
their  conative  effects  with  those  of  other  tendencies  is 
often  very  complicated.  What,  for  instance,  shall  Ave 
say  of  the  fascination  for  the  terrible  and  the  horrible  ? 
There  is  probably  involved  here  much  of  both  enforced 
and  primitive  spontaneous  attention.  At  the  same 
time  the  intense  excitement  is  pleasurable,  and  thus 
conspires  to  maintain  the  attention  by  way  of  appetition. 
But  there  is  much  that  is  painful.  This  pain  on  the  one 
hand  increases  the  striking  character  of  the  experience, 
but  on  the  other  it  involves  aversion.  There  is  a  ten- 
dency to  turn  away,  and  this  may  be  strong  enough  in 
some  cases  to  conrjuer  the  other  conations  involved. 

The  effects  of  pleasure-pain  on  attention  are  great  and 
far-reaching.  Some  writers  have  been  so  impressed  by 
them  that  they  have  l)een  led  to  place  pleasure-pain  in  the 
forefront  as  the  great  determinant  of  attention.  The 
following  definition,  for  instance,  occiu-s  in  a  well-known 
text-book. 

"INTEREST  is  the  name  given  to  the  pleasurable  or 
painful  feelings  wliich  are  evoked  by  an  object  or  idea,  and 
which  give  tliat  object  or  idea  the  power  of  arousing  and 
holding  the  attention." 

In  examining  this  deliniticm,  it  will  l)e  well  to  take  the 
case  of  pleasural)le  feelings  first.  It  is  significant,  indeed, 
that  all  the  examples  cited,  in  this  and  in  many  other 
books,   of    really   interesting    lessons    refer    to   cases   of 


S46  ATTENTION, 

pleasurable  feeling.^  Now  let  as  suppose  one  of  these 
lessons  to  be  just  over.  If  we  ask  one  of  the  most  atten- 
tive pupils  whether  he  enjoyed  the  lesson,  he  will  probably 
answer  in  the  afl&rmative.  There  was  evidently  a  pleasur- 
able character  in  the  lesson  as  it  affected  the  majority  of 
the  pupils.  Without  more  ado,  therefore,  this  hedonic 
tone  is  seized  upon  as  the  cause  of  the  attention.  But  if 
we  examine  the  matter  a  little  more  closely,  we  shall  find 
that  much  of  the  pleasure  did  not  exist  in  the  first  place, 
and  lead  to  attention,  but  Avas  rather  a  hy -product  of  it. 
If  it  were  possible  for  a  boy  to  introspect,  he  would 
probably  declare  that  to  a  large  extent  he  did  not  attend 
because  the  lesson  was  pleasant,  but  he  found  it  pleasant 
in  attending.  The  pleasure  in  question  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  tendencies  are  aroused  by  the  ideas  suggested  in  the 
lesson,  and  find  congenial  exercise  in  connection  with 
them. 

There  is,  however,  in  the  view  criticised,  this  much  of 
truth,  viz.,  that  the  pleasui'e  produced  in  the  way  described 
(as  well  as  any  other  pleasure,  if  such  there  be)  conspires 
to  arouse  still  more  attention.  But,  even  here,  it  produces 
its  effect  througli  conation — ^through  that  form  which  we 
have  called  aptpetition.  "  It  may  be  I'egarded  both  as  the 
condition,  and  as  the  result  of  the  conative  activity  in 
attention.  .  .  .  Thus,  when  we  are  reading  an  interesting 
story,  the  pleasure  arising  at  each  new  unfolding  of  the 
plot  incites  attention  for  the  next  stage.  At  the  same 
time  the  conative  activity  itself  is  producing  pleasure,  not 
only  indirectly  by  carrying  on  the  attention  to  new  agree- 
able objects,  but — when  the  conditions  of  a  good  story 
and  of  a  reasonably  clear  style  are  satisfied — in  a  con- 
sciousness of  successful  activity.  Feeling  and  conative 
activity  thus  interact  in  all  interested  attention."  - 

It  is  tolerably  clear,  then,  that  an  appeal  to  the  tenden- 
cies  of   the   individual   is    the   first   requisite.     But   the 

»  Thus  Mr.  F.  E.  Bolton  {Principles  of  Education,  p.  666),  after 
telling  us  that  interest  "may  sometimes  be  a  painful  state,"  goes 
on  to  say :  '•  The  type  discussed  in  this  chapter,  however,  will  be 
pleasurable  states." 

-  Siilly,  Teacher's  Handbook  of  Psychology,  New  Edition,  p.  133, 


ATTENTION.  347 

teacher  who  succeeds  in  making  this  appeal  has  the 
further  encouragement  that  additional  appetitive  conation 
results  from  the  pleasure  produced  bv  the  satisfaction  of 
the  tendencies  originally  appealed  to.  To  put  the  matter 
in  more  simple  language,  when  the  child  has  been 
interested  in  a  given  subject,  the  pleasure  produced 
inclines  him  to  desire  to  go  on  with  the  subject.  A 
teacher  in  an  infant  school  stopped  in  her  narrative  with 
the  words :  "  But  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  these  things." 
Quite  spontaneously  one  of  her  pupils  exclaimed  :  "  I  like 
to  hear  you  all  right,  though."  Sui'ely  this  sentence  indi- 
cates the  conative  effect  of  pleasure. 

But  what  of  j;ai/i  ?  The  definition  of  interest  quoted 
above  was  taken  from  an  educational  text-book.  But  we 
are  not  told  how  a  lesson  may  be  made  painful  in  order  to 
arouse  and  hold  attention  to  it.  For  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that,  according  to  the  definition,  tlie  pain  fixes 
attention  on  the  object  which  is  painful.  It  is  of  little 
use  to  speak  of  punishments.  For  these,  by  the  same  law, 
compel  attention  to  themselves,  not  to  the  lesson.  If  what 
is  meant  is  that  we  may  compel  attention  to  the  lesson  6?/ 
their  means,  there  is  some  trutli  in  that.  But  it  is  through 
fear,  or  through  aversion  from  pain.  We  produce  these 
conative  effects  by  means  of  the  punishment,  and  it  is 
these,  not  the  pain  itself,  which  may  to  some  extent  deter- 
mine attention  to  the  lesson. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  pain  does  arrest  attention  to  the 
object  which  it  accompanies,  or  by  which  it  is  produced. 
We  cannot  avoid  attending  to  what  is  painful.  But  this 
is  a  case  of  enforced  attention — not  one  of  interest,  as 
usually  understood.  And  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the 
pain  has,  in  addition,  another  conative  effect.  As  we  have 
just  noted,  it  produces  aversion,  which  is  a  conation  aivay 
from  the  painful  object.  And  it  is  this  aversion,  not  the 
enforced  attention  to  the  painful  object,  which  we  utilise; 
when  we  punish  a  child  for  inattention.  Our  purpose  is 
not  to  enforce  attention  to  the  piuiishment,  though  thai 
is  an  unavoidable  preliminary  to  the  production  of  the 
strong  aversion  or  fear  which  we  wish  to  arouse.  This 
once  aroused,  however,  we  have  a  motive  which  directs  atten- 


348  ATTENTION. 

tion  to  something  else :  in  other  words,  the  child  attends 
to  his  lesson  because  he  desires  to  escape  further  punish- 
ment. It  is  almost  needless  to  add  that  we  should  bring 
such  a  motive  to  the  forefront  only  as  a  last  resource. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  because  we  have  adversely 
criticised  a  definition  which  derives  all  interest  from 
pleasure-pain,  that  therefore  hedonic  tone  is  a  small  factor 
in  the  mental  life.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  most  important 
element  of  experience.  It  is  the  dominant  feature  in  our 
}oys  and  sorrows,  our  amusements  and  our  vexations.  Its 
influence  in  modifying  the  various  instinctive  and  innate 
tendencies  is  incalculable.  Punishment  and  reward  owe 
the  power  which  they  possess  largely  to  its  agency.  It 
would  even  be  possible  to  maintain  with  some  show  of 
reason  that  in  the  long  course  of  evolution  all  our  special 
instinctive  and  innate  tendencies  owe  their  gradual  develop- 
ment to  its  influence.  But  we  have  to  deal  with  the  indi- 
vidual as  tve  find  him  noii).  And  we  find  these  tendencies 
strongly  rooted,  and  working  to  a  large  extent  indepen- 
dently of  the  pleasure-pain  of  the  moment.  Except  in  a 
few  exceptional  cases,  where  intense  pleasure  or  severe  pain 
dominates  the  situation,  the  hedonic  tone  is  largely  in  the 
background.     Ready-made  conation  is  the  leading  factor. 

"  Let  us  look  at  the  case  of  a  boy  tiying  to  make  a  toy 
air-ship.  Every  step  in  the  construction  is  of  interest  to 
him,  because  it  leads  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  desire,  the 
accomplishment  of  his  purpose.  He  nails  and  pastes,  not 
because  nailing  and  pasting  ai*e  in  themselves  delightful, 
but  because  without  nailing  and  pasting  the  air- ship  can- 
not be  made.  Does  he  desist  because  he  bruises  his  fingers 
with  the  hammer  or  cuts  them  with  kuil'e  or  saw  ?  Does 
a  first  failure  daunt  him,  or  does  he  start  again  to  repair 
his  mistake.  Does  he,  in  fact,  bother  his  head  about  the 
quality  of  the  sensations  he  is  experiencing  ?  "  ' 

We  see,  then,  that  although  pleasure  and  pain  have 
their  influence,  they  do  not  constitute  the  dominant  fea- 
tui'e  in  what  we  call  interest.  "  Interest  that  is  educa- 
tionally valuable,  is  not  that  whicii  pleases  and  amuses 

»  Welton,  The  Psychology  of  Education,  pp.  188,  189. 


ATTENTION.  349 

(though  a  little  such  interest  is  helpful,  especially  with 
young  children),  but  that  kind  of  interest  which  causes 
effort  to  be  put  forth  in  order  to  satisfy  the  hunger  for 
knowledge."  ' 

In  so  far  as  appetition  and  aversion  influence  the  direc- 
tion of  attention,  we  can  class  this  attention  with  2)rimitive 
spontaneous  attention.  It  is  due  to  a  tendency  which, 
though  not  of  a  special  character  like  the  instincts,  is 
found  in  evei*y  human  being  and  probably  in  every  animal 
— the  tendency  to  seek  pleasure  and  avoid  pain." 

(2)  With  apperceiAive  attention  we  have  already  dealt 
in  the  last  chapter.  We  have  noted  that  it  cannot  be 
accounted  for  from  the  cognitive  standpoint  alone,  but 
that  it  requires  conation  behind  it.  And  this  conation  is 
of  the  same  nature  as  that  involved  in  the  primitive  spon- 
taneous attention  which  we  have  been  studying.  Apper- 
ceptive attention,  indeed,  is  in  the  first  place  developed  out 
of  the  primitive  spontaneous  variety.  A  good  instance  of 
the  early  stage  of  that  development  was  cited  in  the  last 
chapter  from  Professor  Welton's  experience.  "  One  of  my 
own  earliest  remembrances,"  he  says,  "  is,  when  three  or  four 
years  old,  cutting  open  a  toy  drum  '  to  see  where  the  noise 
came  from.'  "  Here  is  a  case  in  which  the  primitive  spton- 
taneons  attention  (which  Professor  Welton  prefers  to  call 
"  absorption  "  rather  than  attention)  is  seen  developing 
into  the  higher  appercep>tive  variety. 

It  is  the  teacher's  business  to  begin  by  appealing  largely 
to  primitive  spontaneous  attention,  but  to  lead  the  children 
on  to  the  higher  form.  He  must  not  be  satisfied  with 
obtaining  mere  "  absorption."  He  must  use  the  conations 
evoked  to  stimulate  intellectual  inquiry.  "  Has  not  many 
a  teacher  found  his  pupils  very  intent  on  his  pictures  or 
his  scientific  practical  demonstrations,  but  at  least  ecj^ually 
slack  in  the  other  parts  of  the  lesson?"*     "  Thei-e  may 

'  Kirkpatrick,  Fundameiitalu  of  Child  Sttidy,  p.  176. 

^  Thoriidike  (in  his  EkmHUls  of  Pffycholoijij,  Ciiap.  XX.,  pp.  309, 
310)  includes  this  tendency  to  seek  pleasure  and  avoid  pain  under 
the  instincts.  But  tliis  seems  to  involve  an  inconvenient  stretching 
of  the  meaning  of  the  wtjrd  instinct. 

^Welton,  Tilt  rsyclwloyy  of  Education,  p.  '241. 


350  ATTENTION. 

even  be  this  absorption  in  a  whole  lesson  with  little  or  no 
true  attention,  if  the  pictures,  lantern-slides,  '  experiments,' 
or  anecdotes  be  numerous  and  striking.  The  intellectual 
value  of  such  lessons  is  no  greater  than  that  of  a  cinemato- 
graph show.  .  .  .  That  children  should  be  amused  and 
entertained  is  right  enough  in  its  way :  only  let  us  not 
think  it  is  the  same  as  being  taught  or  trained."^ 

One  hears  a  good  deal,  in  these  days,  of  teaching  geo- 
graphy by  lantern  lessons,  and  some  have  even  suggested 
that  the  cinematograph  might  wdth  advantage  be  introduced 
into  the  schools.  Such  means  are  excellent  for  arousing 
a  primitive  interest.  But  the  teacher  must  be  careful  that 
this  primitive  or  emotional  interest,  once  aroused,  leads  on 
to  an  intellectual  one.  We  wish  the  children  to  have  not 
merely  a  concrete  view  of  the  world,  but  a  comprehension 
of  its  meaning ;  they  must  trace  cause  and  effect  in 
the  physical,  industrial,  and  political  spheres.  And  this 
work  cannot  be  done  while  tlie  brilliant  pictures,  rapidly 
succeeding  one  another,  are  completely  "absorbing"  the 
children.  By  all  means  let  us  have  the  pictures  as  a  stim- 
ulus, but  let  us  not  forget  to  go  on  to  the  more  important 
intellectual  considerations  which  should  grow  out  of  them. 

For  this  purpose,  we  may  well  divide  our  lessons  rather 
rigidly  into  two  kinds — emotional  and  intellectual.  Let 
the  lantern  lessons  be  both  a  stimulus  and  a  reward  for 
the  more  intellectual  work  of  the  "  ordinary  "  lessons.  In 
these  latter  there  should,  of  course,  be  illustrations  and 
diagrams.  But  they  should  not  overwhelm  the  lessons ; 
they  should  be  subservient  to  the  intellectual  considerations. 
We  should  always  remember  that  many  a  common  sailor, 
who  has  spent  his  life  in  voyaging,  has  "  seen  "  more  of  the 
world  than  the  most  learned  professor  of  geography.  Yet 
he  may  understand  no  more  of  geography  than  a  farm 
labourer  who  has  remained  at  home  the  whole  of  his  life. 

The  same  clear  division  between  "  emotional "  and 
"intellectual"  interest  should  be  noted  in  literature.  But 
here  the  "  emotional "  aspect  is  the  more  important.  We 
have,  it  is  true,  to  see  that  the  children  get  an  intellectual 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  242. 


ATTENTION.  351 

grasp  of  a  poem,  aud  we  ofteu  require  to  devote  a  whole 
lessou-period  to  such  a  task.  But  the  great  danger  is  that 
the  intellectual  should  crowd  out  the  emotional.  The 
teacher  should  be  ever  on  the  alert  to  help  the  boys  in 
their  comprehension,  he  should  smooth  over  the  intellectual 
difficulties  as  much  as  possible,  and  he  should  try  to  have 
many  lessons  in  which  the  emotional  interest  is  the  domi- 
nant feature.  Much  of  his  success  will  depend  on  the 
selection  of  the  matter.  With  younger  pupils,  the  passages 
intended  to  I'ouse  emotional  interest  should  be  simple  in 
idea  and  expression.  A  skilful  teacher,  however,  can  do 
much  in  his  preliminary  talk  on  the  piece  to  remove  diffi- 
culties. Further,  it  should  be  remembered  that  boys  can 
often  appreciate  and  enjoy  a  piece  without  understanding 
the  full  meaning  of  every  detail. 

The  growth  of  the  higher  or  apperceptive  form  of  atten- 
tion from  the  loAver  primitive  "  absorption  "  is,  after  all, 
only  another  aspect  of  the  development  of  the  sentiments 
out  of  the  primary  instincts  and  innate  tendencies.  It  is 
the  same  thing  viewed  from  the  cognitive  standpoint. 

We  have  seen  in  earlier  chapters  that  the  primary 
emotions  and  tendencies  give  rise  to  more  complex 
organisations  called  sentiments.  These  are  complex 
growths  of  emotions  aud  couative  tendencies  around  some 
object.  This  means  that  attention  to  that  object,  and  to 
the  idea  of  it,  is  still  more  strongly  aroused.  For  an 
example  we  may  quote  Mr.  McDougall's  words  with  re- 
spect to  the  early  development  of  the  sentiment  of  parental 
love  from  the  tender  emotion.  "  Each  time  the  emotion 
and  its  impulse  are  brought  into  operation  by  this  par- 
ticular object,"  he  tells  us,  "  they  are  rendered  more  easily 
excitable  in  the  same  way,  until  the  mere  idea  of  this 
object  is  constantly  accompanied  by  some  degree  of  the 
emotion,  however  feeble.  This  gives  the  object  a  special 
power  of  attracting  and  holding  the  attention  of  the  parent, 
who  therefore  constantly  notices  the  child's  expressions ;  and 
these  evoke  by  sympathetic  reaction  the  corresponding 
feelings  and  emotions  in  the  parent."  '     But  there  is  not 

'  McDougall,  op.  cit.,  p.  165.     (Italics  ours.) 


352  ATTENTION. 

only  inci'easing  complexity  on  the  emotional  and  impulsive 
side ;  all  this  experience  means  advance  on  the  cognitive 
side  also.  The  parent  "  constantly  notices  "  the  child  and 
his  actions.  This  surely  means  that  he  learns  a  great 
deal  about  him.  Although  we  have  spoken  of  the  senti- 
ment as  growing  up  around  one  object  (in  this  case  the 
child),  we  must  remember  that  that  object  is  developing 
also.  It  soon  becomes  not  one  object  or  idea,  but  a  mass 
of  ideas,  resulting  from  constant  attention  to  the  child 
and  its  welfare.  To  quote  from  a  former  chapter,  "As  the 
sentiment  develops,  this  object  or  idea  becomes  more 
complex.  As,  for  instance,  the  self-regarding  sentiment 
develops,  one's  knowledge  of  oneself  and  of  all  the  rela- 
tions into  which  one  can  enter  increases."  ' 

We  see,  then,  that  as  the  primitive  instincts  develop  and 
are  organised  into  sentiments,  there  is  a  corresponding  de- 
velopment of  ideas.  The  organisation  of  these  means  the 
creation  of  "  apperception  masses."  The  higher  or  secondary 
form  of  spo7itaneous  attention  is  therefore  apperceptive. 
This  apperceptive  sjjontaneous  attention  is  at  once  the  most 
powerful  and  the  most  useful  form  of  attention.  On  the 
one  hand,  it  involves  strong  and  well-organised  conations  ; 
on  the  other,  it  has  at  its  service  rich  stores  of  ideas  which 
facilitate  the  activity  of  those  conations.  Whenever  the 
"  object,"  or  an  idea  connected  with  it,  is  presented,  there 
is  excited  a  complex  and  highly  organised  psycho-physical 
disposition.  This  consists,  on  the  one  hand,  of  powerful 
impulses  which  tend  to  run  on  for  some  time,  and  possibly 
to  surmount  many  obstacles,  before  they  finally  subside  to 
comparative  quiescence.  On  the  other  hand,  this  tendency 
to  run  on,  to  play  round  the  "  object,"  is  favoured  by  the 
rich  store  of  ideas,  wliich  enable  the  "  object "  to  be 
grasped  from  many  points  of  view.  It  is  to  be  added  that 
the  whole  business — tendencies  furthered,  mental  activity 
successful — is  highly  pleasurable,  and  that  the  pleasure 
produced  probably  increases  the  conation,  and  thus  renders 
the  attention  still  more  keen. 

Now   we  have   seen  that   the   final  test  of  a  school's 

'  .P299. 


ATTENTION.  353 

instructiou  is  tlie  interest  which  the  pupils  take  in 
their  work,  and  this  is  shown  most  clearly  by  the  number 
of  pupils  who  evince  a  tendency  to  go  on  with  some  of 
their  studies  after  leaving  school.  The  Avork  of  the 
teacher,  then,  with  respect  to  the  school  subjects,  is  to 
develop  intellectual  sentiments  around  them.  There  must 
gradually  arise  a  geography  sentiment,  a  histoiw  sentiment, 
a  love  of  good  literatvu'e,  and  so  on.  This  can  only  be 
done  if  the  teacher  takes  account  of  the  instinctive  tenden- 
cies and  emotions,  which  the  children  possess  on  coming  to 
school,  if  he  appeals  to  these  in  the  first  place,  gradually 
refining  and  organising  them  by  the  matter  which  he 
selects,  by  his  methods  of  presenting  that  matter,  and, 
above  all,  by  his  own  enthusiasm  for  the  matter,  which 
will,  to  a  large  extent,  communicate  itself  by  sympathy  to 
the  children.  A  teacher,  for  instance,  who  is  not  a  lover 
of  literature  himself  will  scarcely  develop  much  of  the 
literary  sentiment  in  his  pupils. 

The  teacher  must  not  expect  the  higher  forms  before 
the  lower  have  had  their  day.  He  must  remember  that 
the  young  child  is  largely  a  creature  of  sporadic  emotions 
and  tendencies.  But  the  same  primitive  tendencies,  which 
detennine  keen  attention  to  such  crude  tales  as  "  The 
Three  Bears,"  "Jack  the  Giant-Killer,"  and  "  Cinderella," 
will,  if  carefully  nurtured,  refined,  and  organised,  bear 
fruit  in  sentiments  which  will  bring  with  them  keen  ap- 
preciation of  "  Hamlet,"  "  The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  and 
"  The  Mill  on  the  Floss."  The  same  tendencies  which 
induce  the  child  to  work  hard  at  his  clay-modelling, 
his  paper-cutting,  and  his  drawing,  will,  with  proper 
development,  give  rise  to  interest  in  machine-drawing,  in 
scientific  experiment,  and  in  architectural  planning  and 
design. 

"From  all  these  facts  there  emerges  a  very  simple  abstract 
programme  for  the  teacher  to  follow  in  Iceeping  the  attention 
of  the  child :  Begin  with  the  line  of  his  native  interests,  and 
offer  him  objects  that  have  some  immediate  connection  with 
these.  The  kindergarten  methods,  tlie  object-teaching 
routine,  the  blackboard  and  manual-training  work — all 
recognise  this  feature.  .  .  , 

J'UNL).  PSY.  23 


354  ATTENTION. 

"  Next,  step  hy  step,  connect  with  these  first  objects  and 
experiences  the  later  objects  and  ideas,  vjhich  you  wish  to 
instill.  Associate  the  new  with  the  old  in  some  natural  and 
telling  way,  so  that  the  interest,  being  shed  along  from  point 
to  point,  finally  suffuses  the  entire  system  of  objects  of 
thoughts  ' 

What  becomes,  then,  of  the  so-called  "  voluntary  atten- 
tion," with  its  "  effort "  to  attend  to  uncongenial  material, 
of  which  the  older  text-books  speak  ?  Much  of  it  can  be 
accounted  for  by  this  appjerceptive  spontaneous  attention 
which  we  have  been  studying.  "  It  is  true  that  John 
resents  prol^lems  in  his  arithmetic  book,  regarding  it  (not 
without  some  show  of  reason)  as  a  waste  of  time  to  find 
how  many  pecks  of  corn  a  certain  number  of  horses  will 
eat  under  distressingly  complicated  circumstances ;  while 
he  will  cheerfully  sacrifice  a  whole  afternoon  to  puzzle  his 
way  through  some  arithmetical  quibble  at  the  end  of  his 
Youth's  Companion  or  of  his  Boys  Own  Paper.  Yet,  if  by 
any  means  the  teacher  can  rouse  interest  in  those  unfortu- 
nate animals,  the  arithmetical  beasts  at  once  get  John's 
fullest  voluntary  attention."  ^ 

The  interest  or  conation  which  is  involved  in  a  strong 
sentiment  will  spread  to  all  kinds  of  things  which  are  seen 
to  be  intimately  connected  with  the  proper  oj beets  of  that 
sentiment.  "Any  object  not  interesting  in  itself  may  become 
interesting  through  becoming  associated  with  an  object  in 
which  an  interest  already  exists.  The  tivo  associated  objects 
grou},  as  it  were,  together :  the  interesting  portion  sheds 
its  quality  over  the  ivhole ;  and  thtis  things  not  interesting 
in  their  own  right  borrow  an  interest  ivhich  becomes 
as  real  and  as  strong  as  that  of  any  natively  interesting 
thing.''  ^ 

"Voluntary  attention,"  as  usually  understood,  is  atten- 
tion to  something  which  is  not  interesting  in  itself,  for  the 
sake  of  some  end  which  is  interesting.  It  is  gradually 
developed  from  primitive  spontaneous  attention  in  the 
way  we  have  studied.  It  depends  on  a  derived  interest. 
But  the  interest  may  be  as  real  and  strong  as  if  it  had 

^  James,  Talks  to  Teachers,  pp.  95,  96. 
^  Adams,  op.  cit.,  p.  264.  ^  James,  Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  94. 


ATTENTION.  355 

arisen  in  the  thing  itself.  And  the  attention  may  be  as 
spontaneous. 

The  things  whicli  acquire  interest  in  this  way  ax*e  means 
to  an  end  in  which  intei'est  is  already  centred.  Although 
they  have  no  interest  in  themselves,  they  are  often  seized 
upon,  when  the  interest  in  the  end  is  strong,  with  an  eager- 
ness which  is  unmistakably  sp;mtaneous.  We  have  already 
noted  many  cases  in  which  boys  eagerly  go  through  ex- 
periences in  themselves  unpleasant  and  unatti-active  be- 
cause they  have  a  keen  desire  for  some  end  to  which  those 
experiences  lead.  The  teacher  should  make  use  of  this 
truth  as  frequently  as  possible.  He  should  see  that  the 
boys  have  a  strong  motive  for  their  work.  Education 
is  constantly  in  need  of  the  development  of  derived 
interest.  Professor  Ribot  gives  the  following  excellent 
example : — 

"  A  child  refuses  to  read  ;  he  is  incapable  of  keeping  his 
mind  fixed  on  the  letters,  which  have  no  attraction  for 
him ;  but  he  looks  with  avidity  upon  the  pictures  con- 
tained in  the  book.  '  What  do  they  mean  P  '  he  asks. 
The  father  replies  :  '  When  you  can  read,  the  book  will 
tell  you.'  After  several  colloquies  like  this,  the  child 
resigns  himself  and  falls  to  work,  first  slackly,  then  the 
habit  grows,  and  finally  he  shows  an  ardor  which  has  to 
be  restrained.  This  is  a  case  of  the  genesis  of  voluntary 
attention.  An  artificial  and  indirect  desire  has  to  be 
grafted  on  a  natural  and  direct  one.  Reading  has  no  im- 
mediate attractiveness,  l)ut  it  has  a  borrowed  one,  and 
that  is  enough.  The  child  is  caught  in  the  wheelwork,  the 
first  step  is  made."  ' 

This  is  perhaps  an  optimistic  account.  It  presupposes 
a  very  strong  interest,  and  one  which  will  liold  on  its 
course  continuously  througli  much  uncongenial  material — • 
a  rare  thing  with  young  children.  It  represents,  nevertlie- 
less,  the  kind  of  thing  which  the  teacher  should  attempt. 
When,  however,  the  ultimate  end  awakens  little  interest, 
or  when,  as  is  often  tlie  case  witli  young  cliildren,  the 
interest  slackens  under  stress  of  circumstances,  or  is  in 

'  Ribot,  The  Pxyrholoyy  of  AUention,  Eriglisli  Trans.,  p.  .38. 


356  ATTENTION. 

danger  of  giving  place  to  other  attractions,  some  more 
proximate,  though  more  external,  interests  must  be  aroused 
to  act  as  spurs  at  frequent  intervals.  Reward  and  punish- 
ment, praise  and  blame,  have  their  place  here. 

Given  an  interest  in  some  end,  the  best  circumstances 
under  which  it  can  illumine  what  would  otherwise  be 
more  or  less  uncongenial  means  are  those  in  which  the 
means  constitute  definite  progressive  steps  towards  the 
final  attainment.  For  in  such  circumstances  the  means 
are  more  or  less  directly  interesting.  "  If  a  boy  desires 
to  make  a  successful  air-ship,  the  parts  of  physics  that 
help  him  are  directly  interesting  to  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  one  reads  a  book  on  physics  in  order  to  pass  an 
examination,  the  interest  is  indirect.  The  examination 
might  with  equal  facility  have  induced  a  study  of  geology 
or  of  old  English  literature."  ^  The  boy  who  is  learning 
the  topography  of  a  district,  as  a  condition  of  going  to 
visit  it  on  a  school  joui'ney,  will  apply  himself  more  spon- 
taneously than  if  he  were  doing  the  same  thing  for  a  prize, 
even  if  we  suppose  that  the  same  amount  of  interest  is 
evoked  by  the  latter  prospect  as  by  the  former.  This  is 
what  Professor  Stout  means  when  he  says  :  "  In  education 
the  teacher  should,  in  the  first  place,  aim  at  making  volun- 
tary attention  implicit  rather  than  explicit.  Here  the 
selection  of  ulterior  motives  for  attending  is  important. 
The  motives  should  have  as  much  connexion  with  the 
subject-matter  of  the  lesson  as  possible."^ 

But,  whether  there  is  such  organic  connection  or  not, 
the  means  will  be  illumined  if  only  the  motives  aroused 
are  strong  enough,  and  the  pain  of  effort  will  not  be  felt. 
The  boy  who  dawdles  over  a  set  of  sums  given  as  home- 
work for  which  mere  marks  are  to  be  ol:»tained,  getting  only 
half  of  them  right  in  two  hours,  might  obtain  correct 
answers  to  all  of  them  in  one  hour  at  an  important 
examination  in  which  a  prize  is  offered  for  the  best 
results.  Now,  here  the  means  are  the  same  in  both  cases. 
We  may  take  it  that  they  are  in  themselves  more  or  less 

^  Welton,  The  Psychology  of  Education,  p.  195. 
*  Oroundivork  of  Psychology,  p.  52. 


ATTENTION.  357 

distasteful.  To  get  attention  to  tliem,  therefore,  a 
tendency  for  sometliiug  else,  to  which  they  form  an 
essential  step,  must  be  aroused.  We  covild  thus  include 
both  instances  under  the  head  of  "  voluntary  attention," 
as  that  tei'm  is  usually  applied.  But  a  glance  at  the  boy 
at  work  in  each  case  would  be  sufficient  to  make  one 
aware  of  a  vast  diffei'ence.  In  the  one  case,  there  is 
disagreeable  effort  the  whole  time.  In  the  other,  the 
keenness  is  so  great  as  to  warrant  us  calling  the  process 
spontaneous.  It  is  trae  that  several  tendencies  are  at 
work  here — the  craving  for  the  prize,  the  spirit  of  rivalry, 
the  force  of  imitation,  etc. — and  that  each  conspires  to 
keep  the  others  active.  It  is  true,  also,  that  the  con- 
ditions are  highly  favourable  to  continued  application — 
absolute  quiet,  the  ticking  of  the  clock  warning  that  time 
is  flying,  the  absence  of  any  attractive  objects  to  lure 
attention  away,  and  so  on.  But  the  great  difference 
between  this  case  and  the  other  is  that  here  conation  has 
been  stirred  to  its  hightest  pitch.  A  powei-ful  conation  so 
transfigures  the  means  that  they  are  seized  upon  without 
any  appreciable  conflict. 

Now  what  of  the  attention  of  the  boy  to  his  home-work  ? 
That  also  may  be  explained  to  some  extent  on  similar 
principles.  But,  as  we  have  just  seen,  there  is  one  great 
difference.  The  idea  of  marks  does  not  arouse  a  conation 
which  is  powerful  enough  to  carry  the  business  tlirough 
efficiently.  If  the  boy  were  as  keen  on  getting  his  marks 
as  he  is  on  gaining  the  prize  and  acquiring  distinction  at 
the  examination,  we  should  see  something  of  the  same 
spontaneity  in  his  attention.  He  has  some  keenness. 
Otherwise  he  would  throw  up  the  whole  affair.  But  his 
conation  is  not  strong  enough  to  overwhelm  all  others. 
Other  conations  or  interests  from  time  to  time  wax 
stronger  than  that  Avhich  is  directed  to  the  obtaining  of 
his  marks.  And,  when  there  is  no  other  motive  for 
application  (as,  for  instance,  the  presence  of  the  teacher,  or 
the  sight  of  other  boys  setting  a  good  example),  it  is  only 
by  a  volition  that  they  can  be  overcome.  This  process  of 
volition  has  already  been  described  in  the  chapter  on  the 
will.     The   additional   force   necessary   to    overcome    the 


358  ATTENTION. 

counteracting  tendencies  is  derived  from  the  self -regard- 
ing sentiment.  The  boy  reflects,  "  I  shall  be  in  disgrace," 
or  "  Father  will  be  angry  with  me,"  or,  if  his  self- 
regarding  sentiment  is  still  more  highly  developed,  "  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself."  New  force  is  obtained, 
and,  for  a  time  at  least,  attention  proceeds  in  the  path  of 
duty. 

But  this  additional  force  is  a  new  factor.  The  impoi-ted 
conation,  it  is  true,  is  still  an  interest,  though  one  of 
a  wider  and  more  comprehensive  kind.  Some  interest  or 
tendency  must  always  be  aroused.  But  there  is  a  great 
difference  in  the  case  under  consideration  :  the  interest 
does  not  arise  in  the  object  itself,  nor  to  a  sufficient 
extent  in  any  other  object  closely  connected  with  it ;  it 
has  to  be  derived,  partly  at  least,  from  the  self-regarding 
sentiment.  In  so  far  as  this  is  the  case,  we  have  what 
is  known  as  volitional  attention.  But  even  this  can 
approximate  in  keenness  of  application  to  spontaneous 
attention.  It  may,  indeed,  be  considered  as  a  spontaneous 
variety  founded  upon  the  conations  of  the  self -regarding 
sentiment.  For  when  the  self-regarding  sentiment  is 
strong  and  well-developed,  it  makes  its  influence  felt 
throughout  all  other  fields.  Interest  flows  over  readily 
from  it  to  any  task  which  is  recognised  as  part  of  duty, 
struggles  are  short  and  sharp,  and  application  is  kept 
steady  and  keen.  This  is  the  more  possible  because, 
when  once  we  bend  to  a  task,  some  interest  is  usually 
developed  in  the  task  itself.  Spontaneous,  as  well  as 
enforced  attention,  conies  to  the  help  of  voUtional. 
"  Pitch  in  and  interest  follows.  No  one  will  ever  get  up 
a  white  heat  of  interest  by  waiting  for  interest  to  come 
before  beginning  a  task."  '  Further,  having  once  made 
its  end  our  own,  we  speedily  develop  some  additional 
conation  in  it.  For,  if  no  other  instinctive  tendency  is 
developed,  the  instinct  of  pugnacity  is  brought  into  play. 
Having  begun,  we  are  incited  to  struggle  through  to  the 
end. 

It   is   hardly   necessary   to   point   out    that    volitional 

^  F.  E.  Bolton,  Principles  of  Education,  p.  695. 


ATTENTION.  359 

attention  is  also  ajyiJerceptive.  No  continued  and  concen- 
trated attention  to  one  object  could  be  otherwise.  It 
differs  from  apperceptive  spontaneous  attention  in  tliat  the 
conations  arising  in  connection  with  the  "  apperception 
mass  "  are  not  sufficient  to  support  the  process,  but  have  to 
be  reinforced  from  the  self-regarding  sentiment.  But  the 
"  apperception  masses  "  are  still  essential.  I  may  make 
the  biggest  eifort  in  the  world  to  follow  a  philosophical 
argument,  but  if  it  is  completely  beyond  me,  if  I  have  not 
sufficient  ideas  to  comprehend  it,  my  attention  will  soon 
faU. 

As  we  have  already  noted,  much  confusion  exists  in 
ordinary  text-books  with  respect  to  the  use  of  the  word 
voluntary.  Most  frequently  voluntary  attention,  as  de- 
scribed in  those  books,  covers  both  the  volitional  type, 
just  dealt  with,  and  that  spontaneous  attention  which  is 
due  to  derived  interest.  But  these  are  clearly  distinguish- 
able. In  the  latter  case,  the  attention  may  be  as  spon- 
taneous as  when  the  interest  is  direct  or  primary.  But 
in  the  former  case,  the  interest  is  insufficient,  and  has  to  be 
supplemented  l)y  an  appeal  to  the  self -regarding  sentiment. 
It  involves  volition.  Again,  the  word  voluntary  is  some- 
times used  to  cover  all  attention  which  depends  on 
organised  tendencies,  sometimes  specialised  to  mean  only 
volitional.  If  used  in  the  former  sense,  it  would  include 
ALL  spontaneotis  attention,  both  primitive  and  apperceptive, 
as  well  as  volitional  attention.  If  used  in  the  latter  sense, 
it  is  superfluous,  for  we  already  have  the  word  volitional, 
and  this  is  unambiguous.  If  the  word  voluntary  could  be 
freed  from  confusion  with  volitional,  we  might  use  it  to 
cover  all  cases  in  which  specific  conations  are  aroused  and 
are  sufficient  to  determine  attention  without  resort  to 
volition.  Bvit,  as  this  cannot  be  done,  in  view  of  the  large 
amount  of  literature  which  exists,  and  which  uses  the 
word  to  include  volitional  attention,  it  is  better  to  avoid 
confusion  by  dropping  the  word  voluntary  and  substituting 
spontaneous. 

III.  We  come   now   to   the   classification  of   forms  of 
attention  according  to  the  nature  of  the  conations  involved. 


360  Attention. 

But  iu  dealing  with  atteutiou  from  the  cognitive  point  of 
view  we  have  already  found  it  necessary  to  refer  very  fully 
to  the  kinds  of  conation  involved.  It  only  remains,  there- 
fore, to  sum  up  our  results. 

We  have  found  that  apperce])tive  attention  springs  out 
of,  and  is  consequently  continitous  with,  primitive  spon- 
taneous attention.  From  the  point  of  view  of  conation, 
therefore,  these  two  must  be  classed  together  as  primi- 
tive and  acquired  forms  of  one  great  class — spontaneous 
attention. 

But  the  apperceptive  or  "  acquired  "  variety  of  sponta- 
neous attention  may  itself  be  divided  into  two  kinds 
according  as  the  interest  in  the  object  is  immediate  {e.g. 
an  interest  in  cricket)  or  derived  {e.g.  an  interest  m  a  rail- 
way time-table).  It  is  often  impossible  in  practice  to 
distinguish  clearly  between  these  two  kinds.  But  it  is 
important  to  recognise  them.  The  teacher  must  depend 
very  largely  on  the  direct  or  immediate  form  in  the  earliest 
stages.  But  very  early  iu  its  career,  nevertheless,  a  child 
can  be  got  to  attend  to  a  thing  which  is  uninteresting  in 
itself  for  the  sake  of  some  end  which  is  interesting.  Here, 
as  we  have  already  noted  in  dealing  with  previous  examples, 
there  are  two  clearly  distinguishable  kinds — (1)  those  cases 
in  which  there  is  some  real  or  "  organic "  connection 
between  means  and  end  {e.g.  attention  to  physics  in  order 
to  make  an  air-ship),  and  (2)  those  cases  in  which  the 
means  are  not  "  organically  "  connected  with  the  end  but 
are  merely  a  necessary  condition  of  its  attainment 
{e.g.  attention  to  physics  in  order  to  pass  an  examina- 
tion). The  former  may  be  termed  cases  of  organically 
derived  interest ;  the  latter,  cases  of  conditionally  derived 
interest. 

So  much  for  spontaneoiis  attention.  But  we  have  seen 
that  the  higher  forms  of  apperceptive  attention  some- 
times require  the  co-operation  of  a  new  conative  factor, 
drawn  from  the  self -regarding  sentiment.  And  we  have 
distinguished  such  cases  under  the  name  of  volitional 
attention. 

Further,  we  have  to  take  note  of  the  enforced  variety  of 
primitive  attention. 


ATT^:NTION. 


561 


We  tlms  have  three  main  kiuds,  which  can  be  sub-divided 
as  follows  : — 

Attention 

I 

I  \  \ 

Enforced  iSpontaneous  Volitional 


Primitive  Acquired         Explicit    Implicit 


Immediate  Derived 


"  Organically  "  ' '  Conditionally 

connected  with  connected  with 

the  immediately  the  immediately 

interesting  object  interesting  object 

The  sub-divisions  under  "  volitional  "  remain  to  be 
explained.  In  describing  volitional  attention,  we  noted 
that  when  the  additional  motive  (derived  from  the  self- 
regarding  sentiment)  is  strong,  it  pervades  the  whole 
process  so  fully  that  application  to  the  task  may  ap- 
proximate in  keenness  and  steadiness  to  the  spontaneous 
variety.  This  would  be  a  case  of  imijlicit  volitional  atten- 
tion. '  When,  however,  the  additional  motive  is  not  strong 
enough  to  influence  the  whole  process  implicitly,  but  the 
idea  connected  with  it  requires  to  be  brought  to  the  sur- 
face in  order  to  renew  again  and  again  the  conative  force 
connected  with  it,  as  when  the  boy  has  continually  to 
repeat  to  himself,  "  I  shall  be  in  disgrace,"  or  "  Father 
will  be  so  angry,"  we  have  a  case  of  exjjlicit  volitional 
attention. 

Although  such  classifications  as  this  may  help  to  clarify 
one's  ideas  on  the  subject,  they  will  do  more  liarm  than 
good  if  they  lead  to  the  belief  that  these  "  kiuds"  of  atten- 
tion are  absolutely  distinct.  In  our  description  of  them 
we  have  tried  to  show  how  they  shade  one  into  another. 
Further,  several  kinds  are  usually  active  together,  so  that 
it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  characterise  the  attention  of 
any  given  moment  as  being  definitely  of  one  kind  rather 


362  ATTENTION. 

tliau  of  anotlier.  It  would  be  both  interesting  and  profit- 
able to  the  student  to  examine  the  descriptions  of  various 
types  of  attention  found  in  other  books,  and  to  classify 
them  according  to  the  scheme  here  presented. 

As  we  have  already  noted,  the  teacher  should  appeal 
principally  to  spontaneous  attention.  He  must  get  to 
know  all  he  can  of  the  tendencies  of  his  pupils,  so  that  he 
can  arouse  and  develop  them  by  presenting  the  appropriate 
objects.  Then  his  business  is  gradually  to  build  them  up 
into  sentiments,  organised  around  the  various  branches  of 
knowledge.  There  is  little  doubt  that  the  best  work  is 
done  by  those  scholars  who  have  a  real  liking  for  the  subject 
which  is  being  studied.  And  in  adult  life  the  same  is 
true.  We  sometimes  wonder  at  the  immense  amount  of 
application  displayed  by  a  great  scholar  in  the  preparation 
of  some  monumental  work.  And  many  are  inclined  to 
think  that  great  volition  must  have  been  required.  They 
make  the  common  mistake  of  considering  the  work  from 
the  point  of  view  of.  their  oww  tendencies.  In  the  majority 
of  cases  little  volition  was  necessary :  the  man  was  fired 
by  an  intense  enthusiasm  for  his  subject.  He  did  not 
have  to  make  up  his  mind  to  do  it.  It  would  be  nearer 
the  mark  to  say  that  he  could  not  help  doing  it.  As 
Professor  James  remarks :  "  One  often  hears  it  said  that 
genius  is  nothing  but  a  power  of  sustained  attention,  and 
the  popular  impression  probably  prevails  that  men  of 
genius  are  remarkable  for  their  voluntary  [i.e.,  according 
to  the  terminology  of  this  book,  volitional]  powers  in  this 
direction.  .  .  .  The  sustained  attention  of  the  genius, 
sticking  to  his  subject  for  hours  together,  is  for  the  most 
part  of  the  passive  [i.e.,  according  to  our  terminology, 
sjjontaneous]  sort.  .  .  .  The  subject  of  thought,  once 
started,  develops  all  sorts  of  fascinating  consequences. 
The  attention  is  led  along  one  of  these  to  another  in 
the  most  interesting  manner,  and  the  attention  never  once 
tends  to  stray  away."  ' 

But  even  when  the  fullest  use  is  made  of  spontaneous 
attention,  there  will   always  remain  many   things  to  be 

'   Talks  to  Teachers,  pp.  101,  102. 


ATTENTION.  363 

attended  to,  wliicla  have  neither  dii-ect  nor  derived  interest. 
We  cannot  in  all  matters  imitate  tlie  genius.  "  He  breaks 
his  engagements,  leaves  his  letters  unanswered,  neglects 
his  family  incorrigibly,  because  he  is  powerless  to  tiu*n  his 
attention  down  and  back  from  those  more  interesting 
trains  of  imagery  with  which  his  genius  constantly  occu- 
pies his  mind."  ^  The  teacher,  however,  has  to  train 
citizens,  men  who  will  be  able  and  willing  "  to  perform 
justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously,  all  the  offices  both 
private  and  publick  of  Peace  and  War."  Such  men  will 
have  to  attend  to,  and  perform,  many  things  which  their 
natural  inclinations  would  not  lead  them  to  deal  with. 
They  will  often  have  to  do  things  which  are  "  against  the 
grain."  And  in  view  of  this,  it  is  necessary  for  the 
teacher  to  see  to  it  that  the  power  of  volitional  attention 
is  developed. 

The  children  must  gradually  acquire  habits  of  self- 
control.  They  must,  little  by  little,  be  led  to  see  the 
necessity  of  making  efforts  to  face  the  uncongenial,  even 
when  there  is  no  congenial  consequence  immediately 
following  to  spur  them  on  in  their  attack.  Only  the 
individual,  who  could  claim  that  his  inclinations  always 
corresponded  to  the  needs  of  the  moment,  would  have  the 
prerogative  of  relying  exclusively  on  spontaneous  attention. 
But  few  if  any  individuals  can  claim  this.  We  have 
therefore  to  form  habits  of  applying  ourselves  to  tasks 
which  we  recognise  as  necessary,  though  we  cannot  always 
trace  any  close  connection  between  the  tasks  and  our  own 
immediate  personal  welfare.  Habits  of  this  kind  will 
often  tide  us  over  many  difficulties  in  which  we  should 
cut  sorry  figures  if  left  to  the  mercy  of  our  momentary 
inclinations. 

In  this  kind  of  habit  formation.  Professor  James  advises 
us  :  "  Keep  the  faculty  of  effort  alive  in  you  by  a  little 
(jrattdtous  exercise  every  clay.  That  is,  be  systematically 
ascetic  or  heroic  in  little  unnecessary  points,  do  every  day 
or  two  something  for  no  other  reason  than  that  you  would 
rather  not  do  it,  so  that  when  the  hour  of  dire  need  draws 

1  Op.  cil.,  p.  103. 


364  ATTENTION. 

iiii^li,  it  may  find  you  not  unuerved  and  untrained  to  stand 
the  test."  ^  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  remind  the  reader 
that  this  applies  to  attending  as  well  as  to  doing,  that,  indeed, 
the  latter  is  really  a  case  of  the  fonuer.  But,  as  we  have 
already  noted,  such  care  to  secure  opportunities  for  efforts 
of  will  is  not  necessary  in  most  cases.  For  there  are 
plenty  of  occasions  in  the  course  of  school  work,  even  in 
those  schools  in  which  the  doctrine  of  interest  has  the 
greatest  influence,  when  natural  inclination  does  not 
coincide  with  the  needs  of  the  moment.  Let  the  teacher, 
therefore,  make  the  school  work  as  interesting  as  possible. 
The  only  caution  to  be  given  is  that  he  is  not  to  be  beguiled 
by  this  doctrine  into  the  flabby  pedagogy  of  soft  options, 
which  insists  that  the  moment  a  thing  is  not  interesting 
to  the  child  it  must  be  dropped.  Punishment  and  reward, 
praise  and  blame  will  often  be  required  at  such  moments  to 
induce  the  child  to  face  the  uncongenial.  And,  as  we  have 
already  seen,  these  educational  means  are  not  only  neces- 
sai'y  to  cause  the  child  to  form  a  habit  of  making  efforts 
"  against  the  grain,"  but  they  play  an  important  part  in 
the  full  development  of  the  self-regarding  sentiment  on 
its  altruistic  side. 

Althougli,  therefore,  we  begin  witli  young  children  by 
appealing  almost  completely  to  their  instinctive  and 
innate  tendencies,  and  although  we  endeavour  so  to 
develop  these  that  they  become  organised  into  sentiments 
around  much  of  the  school  work,  we  have  to  remember 
that  as  the  child  grows  older  the  distinction  between  play 
and  work  must  become  ever  clearer.  It  is  a  healthy  dis- 
tinction which  persists  throughout  life.  And  the  neglect 
of  it  will  have  direful  results.  "  I  know  cases  in  which 
parents  have  deplored  the  final  ruin  of  their  child's 
education  at  its  Higher  School  and  for  its  future  life,  fi'om 
its  having  drunk  in  as  gospel,  at  a  so-called  Kindergarten 
institution,  this  deadly  error,  viz.  that  in  a  truly  human 
education  a  child  should  not  be  able  to  distinguish 
whether  it  is  at  work  or  at  play."  ■ 

^  Principles  of  Psychology,  Vol.  I.,  p.  126. 

-  Rev.  C.  D.  Duport,  H. M.I.,  quoted  by  Winch  in  his  article  on 
The  Psychology  and  Philosophy  of  Play,  in  Mind,  1906,  p.  33. 


ATTENTION.  365 

To  tliose  who  cry  out  for  respect  of  the  child's  tenden- 
cies, it  may  be  replied  that  these  tendencies  are  never 
wholly  good.  In  other  words,  the  tendencies  of  the  child 
do  not,  when  left  largely  to  themselves,  develop  in  com- 
plete harmony  with  the  needs  of  the  society  in  which  he 
lives.  There  are,  of  course,  great  differences  in  this 
respect.  Some  children  possess  a  nature  so  much  in  con- 
formity with  the  claims  of  their  social  environment 
that  little  interference  from  without  seems  necessary. 
Others  have  so  many  tendencies  which  bring  them  into 
conflict  with  their  fellows  that  very  drastic  means  have  to 
be  taken  to  modify  their  nature.  But,  taking  the  widest 
view,  it  may  be  said  that  every  system  of  education  must 
ultimately  depend  on  the  nature  of  the  child. 

All  interference  with  what  we  call  the  "  natural  "  de- 
velopment of  the  child  must  itself  depend  on  the  possibility 
of  evoking  some  "  natural  "  reactions.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  child,  in  addition  to  the  specialised  forms 
of  reaction  which  we  call  instincts,  possesses  a  general 
tendency  to  avoid  pain  and  to  adhere  to  pleasure.  This 
general  tendency  is  evoked  along  with,  and  modifies  the 
strength  and  direction  of,  the  more  specialised  tendencies. 
In  one  case,  indeed — that  of  fear — it  is  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish between  general  and  special.  Severe  pain  not 
only  causes  aversion  to  the  course  of  activity  in  which  it 
arises,  but,  whenever  the  situation  is  of  such  a  nature 
as  to  permit  of  any  attempt  being  made  to  avoid  it, 
that  aversion  readily  develops  into  the  impulse  to  flight 
with  its  characteristic  emotion  of  fear.  And  this  more 
specialised  instinctive  tendency  is  liable  to  be  evoked 
whenever  the  situation  recurs,  whether  in  reality  or  in 
idea.  Such  play  of  tendencies  is  quite  as  "  natural " 
as  any  other.  It  occurs  to  some  extent  in  the  child's 
life,  even  when  the  educator  does  not  interfere.  In  the 
early  rewards  and  punishments  which  we  mete  out,  we 
are  thus  only  making  use  of  "  natural "  tendencies,  and 
our  interference  cannot,  tlierefore,  be  considered  wholly 
ai'tifieial. 

It  is  important  to  consider  what  will  be  the  state  of  the 
other  tendencies  after  our  interference.     Education  is  con- 


366  ATTENTION. 

cerned,  before  all  else,  witli  the  development  of  these 
tendencies.  If  the  consequence  of  our  interference  is 
merely  to  develop  fear  of  punishment  and  love  of  reward, 
leaving  the  other  tendencies  in  a  worse  condition  than  that 
in  which  we  found  them,  we  have  made  a  serious  and 
irreparable  mistake.  This  mistake  has  often  been  made 
in  the  past,  when  rewards  and  punishments  were  some- 
times abused,  especially  the  latter,  which  was  by  some 
considered  to  be  the  chief  means  of  securing  application. 
If,  however,  our  judicious  pushing  by  pimishment  does 
not  merely  lead  to  a  dislike  of  pushing,  but  awakens  the 
child  to  a  truer  sense  of  his  position  in  society,  and  if  our 
skilful  luring  by  reward  does  not  merely  result  in  a  liking 
for  being  lured,  but  also  develops  some  intei'est  in  the 
things  to  which  the  child  is  lured,  thus  enabling  the  more 
altruistic  side  of  his  nature  to  grow  and  flourish— and 
these  results  can  usually  be  obtained,  if  the  means  in 
question  are  not  abused — we  are  justified  in  making  use 
of  what  are  in  some  quai'ters  considered  obsolete  weapons 
of  education.  It  is  only  in  certain  articles,  written  by 
those  who  are  more  or  less  detached  from  the  actual  work 
of  teaching,  that  these  cruder  means  are  ignored.  The 
practical  teacher,  whether  he  admits  it  or  not,  usually 
finds  the  necessity  of  them. 

As  Mrs.  Mumford  says,  "  it  is  possible  to  oyer-recognize 
a  child's  individuality.  We  cannot  allow  a  boy  of  12  to 
give  all  his  time  to  reading  and  study,  poring  over  his 
books,  and  neglecting  friends  and  games  and  physical 
exercise,  simply  because  he  is  following  his  own  bent. 
The  boy  who  is  by  nature  a  bully  canuot  be  allowed  to 
bully  unchecked.  The  girl  who  is  by  nature  vain  and 
selfish  must  learn  to  think  of  others.  We  cannot  allow 
the  children  to  ride  rough-shod  over  us  simply  because  in 
so  doing  they  are  exercising  their  natural  impulses  !  Our 
aim  is  to  combine  a  recognition  of  individuality  with  the 
shaping  of  the  child's  character  according  to  the  ideal 
ends  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives ;  to  help  him  to 
develop  himself,  even  thi'ough  some  repression  of  self.  .  .  . 
We  must  find  the  happy  mean  between  repression  and 
development,   and   we    must    above    all   understand   the 


ATTENTION.  367 

children  and  their  standpoint." '  As  we  have  tried  to 
show,  even  in  repression  we  are  still  Avorking  by  means  of 
the  child's  natural  impulses :  we  change  his  environment 
in  such  a  way  that  certain  tendencies  (fear  and  aversion 
from  pain)  are  evoked  in  svifficient  strength  to  modify 
others. 

American  psychologists  are  fond  of  referring  to  interest 
as  "the  felt  value  of  an  end."  Thus  Dr.  Dewey  says: 
"  The  root  idea  of  the  term  seems  to  be  that  of  being 
engaged,  engrossed,  or  entirely  taken  up  with  some 
activity  because  of  its  recognised  worth."  -  And  De 
Garmo  says  :  "  More  precisely,  it  is  a  feeling  of  the  worth, 
to  the  self,  of  an  end  to  be  attained."^  At  first  sight 
these  definitions  may  appear  to  difi:er  from  the  meaning 
which  we  have  attached  to  the  term.  But  a  little  con- 
sideration will  make  it  evident  that  conation  is  the  funda- 
mental idea  underlying  such  definitions.  To  feel  the 
value  of  an  object,  or  end,  we  must  have  a  conation 
thereto.  The  "  feeling "  referred  to  consists  of  the 
emotional  and  affective  accompaniments  of  the  impulse 
excited.  Both  the  writers  referred  to  specify  more 
definitely  in  other  places  that  it  is  this  conative  activity 
which  is  the  core  of  interest.  Thus  De  Grarmo  says : 
"  Interest  is  therefore  dynamic  in  character.  It  has  its 
primary  root  in  inherited  impulse."  *  And  Dr.  Dewey 
tells  us  :  "  In  this  primitive  condition  of  spontaneous  im- 
pulsive activity  we  have  the  basis  for  natural  interest  .  .  . 
In  the  selective  or  preferential  quality  of  impulse  we  liave 
the  basis  of  the  fact  that  at  any  given  time,  if  we  are 
psychically  awake  at  all,  we  are  always  interested  in  one 
direction  rather  than  another."  ^ 

Our  attention,  then,  is  pre-eminently  due  to  the  nature 
of  our  tendencies,  instinctive  and  acquired.  This  is  what 
is    meant    by   saying   that   attention    is    determined    by 

'  The  Dawn  of  Character,  p.  205. 

^  Interefit  in  Relation  to  Trainhiy  of  the  Will,  edited  by  Findlay 
(Blackie  &  Hon),  p.  91. 

'■^Interest  and  Education,  p.  28.  •  Op.  cit.,  pp.  IS,  19. 

^  Interest  in  Relation  to  Training  of  the  Will,  p.  93. 


368  ATTENTION. 

interest.  "  When  and  liow  a  pupil  attends  is  a  matter  of 
instinct  and  liabit ;  there  is  no  royal  road  to  winning 
attention,  but  only  the  regular  highway  through  the 
development  of  interest  and  the  reward  of  acts  of  atten- 
tion by  some  increment  of  satisfaction  to  the  pupil." ' 

To  the  teacher  who  asks  for  a  general  formula  to  enable 
him  to  gain  the  attention  of  his  pupil,  we  can  only  say :  Get 
to  understand  how  his  mind  works  and  act  accordingly. 
The  so-called  "  natural  "  teachers  approximate  to  the  right 
methods  of  appealing  to  children  because  they  are  able  to 
see  things  from  the  child's  point  of  view,  in  other  words, 
because  they  have  deep  sympathy  with  children.  This 
sympathy  is  the  most  valuable  gift  which  a  teacher  can 
possess.  But  all  teachers,  whether  they  possess  this  gift 
in  great  measure  or  not,  will  be  more  successful  in  securing 
the  attention  and  co-operation  of  their  pupils  by  studying 
the  general  features  of  mental  processes  and  the  way 
in  which  they  develop,  and  by  observing  as  minutely  as 
circumstances  permit  those  concrete  instances  of  these 
generalisations,  and  the  variations  thereof,  which  they  find 
around  them  in  each  of  their  pupils. 

It  should  now  be  obvious  that  the  securing  of  attention 
to  one  thing  rather  than  to  another,  and  the  means  whereby 
that  attention  is  obtained,  are  the  all-important  questions 
for  the  educator.  Attention  may  be  called  the  growing- 
point  of  mind.  It  sums  up  the  whole  past  life  and 
character  of  the  individual,  and  it  largely  determines 
what  that  life  and  character  shall  be  in  the  future.  What 
the  child  will  attend  to  when  he  becomes  a  man  is  largely 
dependent  on  what  we  get  hiin  to  attend  to  now,  and  on 
how  we  induce  him  to  give  that  attention. 


Questions  on  Chapter  XYI. 

1.  Give  a  short  account  of  the  several  varieties  of  attention  and 
compare  their  educational  value. 

2.  On  what  does  a  close  and  sustained  attention  depend  ? 

'  Thorndike,  The  Principles  of  Teaching,  p.  105. 


ATTENTION.  369 

3.  In  what  aspects  does  early  attention  dififer  from  later  ?  What 
differences  in  the  mode  of  instruction  are  necessitated  by  these 
differences  ? 

4.  Explain  fully  why  it  is  necessary  in  the  case  of  j'oung  children 
(1)  to  make  the  lessons  short ;  (2)  to  introduce  a  variety  of  illustra- 
tions and  of  treatment  generally. 

5.  How  does  the  power  of  concentration  differ  in  the  case  of  a 
child  of  five  or  six,  and  that  of  a  youth  of  sixteen  ? 

6.  What  is  meant  by  a  "habit  of  concentration"  ^  What  is  its 
educational  importance,  and  how  can  it  best  be  secured  ? 

7.  What  are  the  various  meanings  of  the  term  voluntary  as 
applied  to  attention  ?  Suggest  other  names  which  avoid  confusion 
between  these  meanings. 


Ji-UND.  PSY.  24 


INDEX. 


ABSORPTION,  328  ;  349 
Abstract  ideas,  113;  120; 
139; 145;  162 
,,  „     :  development 

of,  114 
Abstraction,   and   classification, 
145 
,,  and       generalisa- 

tion, 117 
,,  :  ascending  degrees 

of,  161 
,,         :    relation     to    the 
concrete,  145 
Acquisition  :  instinct  of,  264 
Activity  :  as  an  innate  tendency, 
276 
,,         :   in  perception,  64 
,,         :  provision  for  in  teach- 
ing, 66  ;  88  ;  278 
,,         :  relation    of    to   will, 
302 
Adams :  on  attention,  329  ;  354 
,,       :  on  di  awing  as  a  test  of 

imagination,  96 
,,       :  on  interest,  186 
,,       :    on    knowledge    in    ob- 
servation, 80 
Adamson  {quoted),  91 
Admiration  a  compound  of   in- 
stincts, 282 
After  image,  83 

,,         ,,      :  negative,  84 
Agreement :  method  of  in  form- 
ing ideas,  130  ;  150  ;  198 
Altruism  and  egoism,  285  ;  290  ; 

293 
Analogy  in  reasoning,  191 


Analj'sis  and  synthesis,  119;  199 

,,        in  ideation,  116 
Anal^'tic  psychology,  13 
Anger  :  emotion  of,  259 
Aphasia,  32-3 
Apperception,  318 

,,  mass  :  319  ;  359 

,,  ,,    and  conation, 

330 
,,  :  need  of  consider- 

ing  in   teach- 
ing, 322-5 
Apperceptive    spontaneous    at- 
tention, 354  ;  359 
Appetition,    237  ;     294  ;     344  ; 

347 
Application  distinguished  from 

explanation,  172 ;  187 
Arborisations,  22 
Aristotle:  referred  to,  199;  313 

,,        (quoted),  311 
Arithmetic  :  teaching   of,    132  ; 

354 
Assimilation,  320 ;  324 
Association,  206 

, ,  and  conation,  230 

,,  and  interest,  354 

,,  by  contiguity,  208 

,,  by  similarity,  208 

,,  :  conditions  of,  212 

,,  fundamentall}'      of 

one  kind,  211 
,,  in  apperception,  319 

Attention,  Ch.  XV.,  XVI, 

,,  and  absorption,  329 

,,  and    bodily     move- 

ment, 278 


370 


371 


Attention,  and     cognitive  pro- 
cess, 322 
,,  and     conative     pro- 

cess, 359 
,,  and  instinctive  ten- 

dency, 326 ;  367 
,,  and    interest,    322 ; 

367 
,,  and  memorj%  225 

,,  and  nervous  energy, 

316 
,,  and    pleasure  -  pain, 

345 
,,         :  apperceptive,  341 
,,         :  classification  of 

forms  of,  361 
,,  :  classified,  340 

,,  :  enforced,  341 

,,         :  explicit      volitional, 

361 
,,  :  focus  of,  316 

:  habits  of,  327 
,,         :  how  to  develop,  362 
,,  :  implicit     volitional, 

361 
,,         :  influence  of  on  sensa- 
tional   experience, 
46-8 
,,         :  involuntary,  341 
,,  :  margin  of,  316 

,,         :  primitive    form   of, 

341 
,,         :  primitive        sponta- 
neous, 343;  349  ;3o7 
,,         :  relation  of  to  physi- 
cal conditions,  338 
,,         :  rule     for     securing, 

353;  368 
,,         :  secondary      sponta- 
neous, 352 
,,         :  volitional,  358 
,,         :  voluntary,  342  ;  354 
Audiles,  86 

Auditory  sensation,  53 
Authority  :  need  fcjr,  293 
Aversion,  239  ;  294  ;  344  ;  347 
Aveyron  :  wild  boy  of,  156  ;  326 
Awe  a  compound  of  instincts,  282 
Axon,  21 


BACOX  AND  INDUCTION, 
199 
Baqley   {quoted),   132    (ft.     n.), 

225,  228,  230 
Blame  :  influence  of  on  volitions, 
309 
,,       :  relation     of    to    puiiisli- 

ment  of,  297 
,,       :  value  of,  296 
Board  of  Education  :  on  hand- 
work    in     the      teaching     of 
historj^  66 
Body :  relation  of  to  mind,  Ch.  II. 
Bolton,  F.  E.  [quoted),   346  (ft. 

v.);  358 
Bosanquet  (quoted),  164 
Boy's  Oira  Pdper  :  referred  to, 

354 
Bradley,  F.  H.  (qnot'-d),  199 
Brain  :  described,  18-22 

,,      :  not  same  as  intelligence, 

15-6 

Brid(/inaii,   Laura :  as  typo   of 

tactile,  86 

,,  ,,       :  illustration 

of  thought 

wit  hout 

speech, 128 

/^iARVFTH  liFAD  (quoted), 
Kj     206 
Cerebellum,  18 
Cerebral  hemisphei'es,  18 
Cerebrum,  18 

Character  :  and  education,  365 
,,  and  phj'sical  nature, 

312 
,,  and  will,  312 

,,  formation   of,    292  ; 

301 
,,  :  meaning  of,  311 

,,  of   the  teacher,  261  ; 

298  ;  335 
Child-study  :  special  need  for  in 

teaching,  9-14 
Choice,  11-12;  304 
Cinderella  :  referred  to,  353 
Cognition  an  ultimate  mcjde   of 
consciousness,  36 


372 


Cognition  and  conation,  232 
Cognitive    process    and    atten- 
tion, 333 
Colour  :  an  abstract  idea,  131 
,,     :  development  of  idea  of, 
6-7 
Comparison    and      abstraction, 

115;   129 
Comjetitious  :  use  of  in  teach- 
ing, 275 
Complex,  the  :  relative  to  know- 
ledge, 146 
Complication,  62 
Conation  :  and  association,  230 
,,  and  attention,  359 

,,  and  feeling,  Ch.  XL 

,,  and  interest,  322 

,,  and  sentiments,  286 

and  will,  302 
,,       :    importance      of      in 
reasoning,  175  ;  227 
,,  ultimate      mode     of 

consciousness,  39 
Concentration,  317 
Conception,  100  ;  162  ;  192 

,,  :  a    teleological     in- 

striiment,  143 
,,  and    apperception, 

319 
,,  and  judgment,  137 

,,  :  higher  tj'pe  of,  160 

,,  in  induction  and  de- 

duction, 193 
, ,  :  its  role  in  reasoning, 

168  :  198 
Concepts  and  recepts,  153 
Concrete    leading    to    the    ab- 
stract, 131  ;  161 
Conditionally   derived  interest, 

360 
Conduction  :  law  of  forward,  26 
Conflict  and  will,  310 
Connotation,  140 

,,  and  thought,  141  ; 

154 
Consciousness  :  analysis   of,   35  ; 
42 
, ,  and  phj'sical  pro- 

cesses, Ch.  II. 


Consciousness  :  organisation    of 

in  wholes,  39- 

40 

:self-,16;261;295 

,,  :  social,  295  ;  313 

Construction  :  instinct  of,  20;  64 

Constructive   imagination,    89 ; 

92-8 
Contra-suggestion,  269 
Control,  in  teaching,  conditions 
of,  262 ;  266 
of  self,  306 
Conversions  (religious),  291 
Corporal  punishment,  254 
Corpus  callosvm,  18 
Cortex  :  and    consciousness,    30 
(ft.  n.);  30;  31 
,,  description  of,  19 

Craving :  blind,  334 
Curiosity  :  how  to  use  in  teach- 
ing, 258 
,,        :  instinct  of,  257 


DANGER  :       OBJECT     OF 
fear  the,  255 
Darwin  and  observation,  79 
Deduction,    186 

,,  :  relation    of  to   in- 

duction, 195  ;  197 
Deductive  method,  150 
Definition,  121  ;  139  ;  142 
,,  in  teaching,  148 

,,         :  the  logical,  144 
De  Garmo  :  on  interest,  367 
Deliberation  and  will,  304 
Denotation,  140 

,,  and  description,  154 

,,  and  imagination,  141 

Description  and  ideation,  153 

,,  and  judgments,  137 

Desire,  303 

Dev-ey  -.  on  interest,  367 
Dictation  :  use  of  in  teaching, 

216 
Difference  :  method  of,  in  foi'm- 

ing  ideas,  130  ;  150 
Differentia,  145 
Disgust :  emotion  of,  256 


373 


Doing  :  see  Activit3\ 
Drawing  as   an  aid  to  imagina- 
tion, 95 
Dreaming  and  work,  93 
Duport  {quoted),  364 

EAR:     MECHANISM     OF, 
52-3 

Edgeworth  (quoted),  171 
Education  and    "natural"   de- 
velopment, 365 
,,  and  the  instinct  of 

fear,  256 
„  more  than  Instruc- 

tion, 1-2 
,,  :  real  meaning  of,  245 

Ego  and  non-ego,  09 

,,     and  will,  305 
Egoism  and  altruism,  285  ;  290, 

293 
Elation,  emotion  of,  260 
Emotion  and  feeling-tone,  286 
,,  and  instinct,  253 

,,  of  anger,  259 

,,  of  disgust,  256 

,,  of  elation  and  subjec- 

tion, 260 
,,  of  fear,  254 

,,  of  wonder,  257 

,,  :  tender,  263 

Emulation  :    importance     of    in 
play,  274 
,,  :  in  work,  275 

End  and  means,  356 
,,   :  as    stimulating     interest, 

358 
,,    :  in  reasoning,  175 
Enforced  attention,  341 
Environment     and     character, 
312  ;  365 
,,  :  influence  of,  243  ; 

307 
Epicurufi :  referrerl  to,  292 
Exercise :    influence    of    on    in- 
stinctive tendency,  239  ;  243 
Exercimx,   14  ;   34  ;  42  ;  (iO  ;  82  ; 
99  ;  128  ;  158  ;  201  ;  231  ;  246  ; 
281  ;  301  ;  314 ;  338 ;  368 


Experiment,  81 

,,  on  memory  train- 

ing, 217  ;  224 
,,  on  suggestion,  271 

,,  on  the  influence  of 

association        in 
perception,  70 
Explanation,  165 

,,  and     application, 

50-1;  172;  187 
External     realitj^     and     motor 

adaptation,  65 
Ej^e  :  mechanism  of,  44-5 

FATIGUE  :     INFLUENCE 
of  on  attention,  338 
,,       :  mental,  33 
,,       :  muscular,  33 
,,        :  nervous,  33 
Fear  :  emotion  of,  254 
Feeling  and  conation,  Ch.  XI. 
Feeling-tone  :  an  ultimate  mode 

of  consciousness,  37-8 
Flight :  instinct  of,  254 
Focus  of  attention,  316 
Formal  training :    doctrine    of, 

226  ;  229 
Foster,  Sir  M.  [quoted),  34 
French  schools :   use  of  emula- 
tion in,  275 
Froehcl :   on    the     work    of    tlie 
teaciier,  4 


GENERAL  IDEAS,  117;  139 
and  gc- 
n  c  ri  c 
ideas, 
153 
rjeneralisation  and   abstraction, 
117 
:  hasty,  138 
(kneric  ideas.    111  ;    120;    139; 
142 
,,  ,,      :  disti  n  guished 

from  abstract 
and  general 
ideas,  152 


374 


Genetic  psychology,  13-14 
Genus.  145 

Grammar :    value   of   in   educa- 
tion, 226 
Gratitude  :  a  compound  emotion, 

283 
Greek  and    Latin     as    basis  of 

formal  training,  226  ;  229 
Green  and  Birchtnowjh  (quoted), 
165 
,,  ,,         :  referred 

to,  230 
(ft.  n.) 
Gregai'ious  instinct,  264  ;  284 
Gustatory  sensation,  56 


HABIT,  219  ;  234  ;  3()() 
,,        and  character,  311 
,,        and     general    expe- 
rience, 225 
.,        and   innate   tenden- 
cies, 221  ;  249 
.,        and  nervous  process, 

222 
,,     :  as  secondarily  auto- 
matic action,  303 
,,     :  how   to    counteract, 

240 
■,,     :  how  to  form,  363 
,,     :  how    t )     stimulate, 

242 
,,     :  inherited,  223 
Hallucination,  48-9 
llamlet :  referred  fco,  353 
Handwoi'k  :  use  of  in  schools, 65  ; 

125 
Happiness  :  nature  of,  287 

,,  :  real  meaning  of,  291 

Hatred  :  sentiment  of,  283 
Hedonic  selection  :  law  of,  236  ; 
280 
,,       -tone,  37 

,,       -tone  and  attention,  334 
Hedonists,  292 

Herhart :  five  formal    steps    of, 
150 
,,       :  referred  to,  9  ;    259  ; 
325 


Heredity  and  character,  312 

„        and  habit,  223 
Heuristic    methods,    97  ;     170 ; 

194 
History  taught  by  acting,  66 
Hohbes  .-  on  conation,  9 
,,       :  on  words,  112 
Iluep  [quoted),    69  ;    105  ;   126  ; 

229 
Hume :  on  the  self,  17 
Hypothesis,  170  ;  191 


IDEALS,  228 
Ideas,  72  ;  73  ;  99 
,,       :  abstract,  113 
,,      :  and  cortical   centres, 

102 
,,       :  communication  of,  194 
,,       :  development    of    ab- 
stract, 115 
,,      :  distinguished       from 

17)1  age,  101 
,,       :  formation  of  new,  321 
,,       :  generic.  111 
,,       :  origin  of,  100 
,,       :  particular,  110 
,,       :  relationof  to  will,  303 
,,      :  systems  of,  160  ;  181 
Ideation,  Ch.   VII.,  Ch.  VIII., 
Ch.  IX. 
,,         and  analjsis,  119 
,,      :  and  apperception,  319 
,,      :  and  SN'nthesis,  119 
,,      :  development  of,  106 
,,      :  productive     and     re- 
pi'oductive     aspects 
of,  322 
,,      :  relation     of     to    per- 
ception  and  imagi- 
nation, 109 
,,      :  sameness  and,  108 
Ideo-motor  movement,  303 
Illusion,  71 
Image  :  and  percepts,  84-5 

defined,  84 
Imagery  :  and  perception,  87 
,,         in  relation    to  teach- 
ing, 87-98 


375 


Imagery  :  kinds  of.  86 
Imagination,  Ch.  VI. 

,,  :   how    to    awaken, 

94-5 
,,         :  interpretative  and 

originative,  89 
,,         :  involving  ideas,  98; 

153 
,,         :  productive  or  con- 
structive, 89 
,,         :  reproductive,  89 
,,         :  use  in  school,  93-4 
,,         :  use     of     in     psy- 
chology, 88 
Imitation,  272 

Induction,  169  ;    186  ;  190  ;  193 
Inductive  method,  148  ;   161 

,,  ,,      :  illustrated, 

149 
Inductive  reasoning,  150  ;  190 
,,  ,,  :  relation 

of  to  de- 
duction, 
195 ;  197 
Inference  and  svstem,  164 
Inhibition,  40  ;  234 
Innate    tendencies,    Ch.    XII., 
365 
,,  ,,        :  how    to    de- 

velop, 244 
„  ,,        :  n  e  e  d       of 

studying, 
245   ;    248; 
Ch.  XII. 
,,       tendency':   and    habit, 

327 
,,  ,,         and      intel- 

lectual   in- 
terests, 353 
,,  ,,  distinguished 

from      in- 
stinct, 252 
,,  ,,  of       doing 

something, 
276 
,,  ,,  of    imitation, 

272 
of     playing, 
273 


i   Innate   tendencj' 


of  seeking 
pi ea  sure 
and  avoid- 
ing pain, 
279 
,,  ,,  of     self-pre- 

servation, 
255  ;  265 
,,  ,,  of      suggesti- 

bility, 268 
,,  ,,  towards  S3'm- 

pathj',  266 
Instinct :  and  innate  tendencies, 
Ch.  XII. 
,,        and  intelligence,  251 

and  will,  303 
,,        neural     side     of,     31 
(ft.  n.) 
Instinctive  action,  .30  ;  253 
Instincts,  special,  Ch.  XII. 

gregarious, 

264 
of   acquisi- 
tion,   244  ; 
264 

of    construc- 
tion, 264 
of  curiosity, 
257 
of  flight  and 
concealment, 

254 
of  numipula- 
tingohjects, 
26o 

ofpugnacit}', 
259 
of  repulsion, 
256 
of  self-abasc- 
mtntorsul)- 
jection,260; 
296 
of  self-asser- 
tion, 244 
of     self -as- 
sertion  or 
self-display, 
260 


376  INDEX. 

Instincts,  special  :  of     self-pre- 
servation, 
265 
,,  >,      :  parental, 263 

Instruction  and  education,  1-2 
Interest    and  association,  354 
, ,        and     attention,    322  ; 
353 
and  conation,  322 
and    instinctive     ten- 
dencies, 367 
and  pleasure-pain,  345 
:  as  "  the  felt  value  of 

an  end,"  367 
:  eonditionallyderived, 

360 
:  derived,  330 ;  354 
:  emotional   and  intel- 
lectual, 350 
:  how  to  sustain,  336  ; 

356  ;  364 
:  need  of,  185  ;  213 
:  organically     derived, 
360 
,,       :  value  of  in  teaching, 
331 
Intermediate  level,  29 
Interpretative  imagination,  89 

,,  imagination    and 

teaching,  90-1 
Intrinsic  feeling,  238  ;  294 
Introspection  :    a   psychological 

method,  13  ;  35 
Invention,  200 
Involuntary  attention,  341 
Isolation    by   varying  concomi- 
tants, 130 
Hard  [quoted),  107  ( ft.  n.) ;  \\\  ; 
112;  118;  252;  326 


JACK     THE    G lANT- 
killer  :  referred  to,  353 
Jacotot  :  referred  to,  2  ;  259 
James  (quoted),  196  ;  233  ;  255 
,,     :  on    action     in    line    of 
greatest       resistance, 
305 


James  :  on  analysis  and  recog- 
nition, 115 
,,     :  on  attention,  325  ;  329  ; 

344  ;  353  ;  362 
,,     :  on  automatism  inaction, 

249 
,,     :  onconstructiveness,  264 
,,     :  on  feeling  and  activity, 

236  ;  237 
,,     :  on  formation  of  habit  of 

effort,  363 
,,     :  on  genius,  353 
,,     :  on  ideas,  102 
,,     :  on     instinct     in     man 

250 
,,     :  on  interest  and  associa 

tion,  354 
,,     :  on  nature   of   ideation 

109 
,,     :  on   purpose   in  eoncep 

tion,  143 
, ,     :  on  reasoning  in  animals 

179 
,,     :  on  relations,  134 
,,     :  on  rivalry,  274 
,,     :  on  speech  centres,  105 
,,     :  on  stream  of  conscious- 
ness, 39 
,,     :  on  thought-links,  219 
Jesuits  :  referred  to,  275 
Judgment     and     apperception, 

320 
Judgments,  137  ;  140 

,,  and  concepts,  138  ; 

157 
,,         :  particular,  157 
,,         :  universal,  157 


KARL  GROOS  :  ON  PLAY, 
273 

Keatinge  [quoted),  263  ;  269 
Keller,  Helen,  50 

,,  ,,     :   and     thought 

without  speech, 
123 
,,  ,,     :   as  type  of  tac- 

tile, 86 


377 


Kliiisesthetic  sensations,  55 

„  ,,         and    spa- 

tial per- 
ception, 
56 
Kirkpatrick  :  on  instinct,  30 
,,  :  on  interest,  349 

,,         :  on  perception,  62 
„  :  on  relation  of  in- 

stincts to  intelli- 
gence, 257 
Knowledge :  acquired   by   indi- 
vidual, 6-8 
and  skill,  71 
and  teaching,  2-14  ; 

263 
and   the  moral  life, 

9-11 
:  gained      by      tra- 
dition, 6-7 
:  growth  of  through 
application       of, 
168 
:  influence   of   upon 

practice,  157 
:  not  passively    re- 
ceived, 4-5 
:  self -developing,  4  ; 
6 


LABYRINTHINE  CANALS, 
53 

Language    and    thought,    108 ; 
124 
,,         :  superiority  of  oral, 

125 
,,         :  the       "parrot" 

variety,  127 
,,         :  use  of  expression  in, 

125 
,,         :  without       tliought, 
127 
Learning :  apperception  a  form 
of,  323 
,,        by  doing  :  see  Activity 
,,       by  heart :  best  method 
of,  214 


Likeness  :  existing  amid  differ- 
ence, 130 
Literature  :  teaching  of,  350 
Lloyd  Morgan :  on  animal  psy- 
chology,    14  ; 
179;  180 
,,  :  on  association, 

210;  211 
,,  :  on    concepts, 

139  (A  n.) 
,,  :  on  feeling,  39 

,,  :  on  imagination 

and      concep- 
tion, 154 
,,  :  on  primary  re- 

tention, 203 
Loathing  :  a    compound    of    in- 
stincts, 282 
Locke :  referred  to,  78 
Look-and-Say  method,  114  ;  336 
Love  :  sentiment  of,  284 


MANIPULATION  :    IN- 
stinct  of,  265 
Margin  of  attention,  316 
Max  Miilhr:  referred  to,  103 
McDoiujall  [quoted),  252 ;  257 
260  ;  261  ;    268  ;   286;  290 
291  ;    293  ;    306  ;    307  ;  310 
351  ;  referred  to,  274  ;  284 
Meaning  and  association,  217 
Medidla  ohlonyata,  18 
Memory,  Ch.  X. 

,,       :  experiments  on,  217  ; 

224 
,,       :  question  of  improve- 
ment of,  225 
,,      :  tliree  phases  of,  204 
Mental  phenomena :  analysis  of, 

Ch.  III. 
Mental  state  :  described,  16 
Merchant  of  Venice:  referred  to, 

353 
Method  :  need  for,  5  ;  11-12 
Meumann    (quoted),    76  ;      102 

(ft.  n.) 
Middle  term  of  Syllogism,  188 


378 


INDEX. 


Mill,  J.  S. :  on  what  consti- 
tutes education,  1-2 

Mill  on  the  Floss :  referred  to, 
353 

Milton  {quoted),  7  ;  10 

Mind  and  body,  Ch.  II. 

,,      and     necessary     connec- 
tions among  ideas,  1.59 

Modelling  :  as  an  aid  to  imagi- 
nation. 96 

Montana  State  Normal  College  : 
experiments  at,  225  ;  229  ; 
230 

Moral  actions,  313 
,,       instruction  :  299 
,,  ,,  and    right 

action.  300 

Motiles,  86 

Motive  :  importance  of  .suppl}'- 
ing,  2-3 

Motor  adaptation,  65 
,,       centre,  25 
,,       nerve,  25 

Movement  :  as     arousing    fear, 
255 
,,         :    importance    of    in 
perception,  67 

Mumford  (qnotfd).  77  ;  221  ; 
242  ;  245  ;  366 


"T^ATURAL     l^EVELOP- 
J.^      ment  :   meaning  of,  365 
Neptune  :  discovery  of,   156 
Nerves,  22 

,,       •  afferent,  25 

,,       :  efferent,  25 

, ,       :  motor,  23  ;  27 

,,       :  sensory,  25 

,,       :  twelve  pairs  of,  27 
Nervous  system  :  description  of, 
22 
,,  ,,       :  organised,  234 

Neurones,  19 
Noralis  {quoted),  312 
Numbers,   129 

,,        :  teaching  of,  1.32 
Nidui,  T.  P.  {quoted),  69 


0 


Observ 


EJECT    AND    HEDONIC 

tone,  38 
lessons,  137 
meaning  of,  36 
ation  :  a  process  of  apper- 
ception, 320 
:  a    ])sychologieal 

method.   12 
and    ideation,    106  ; 

121  ;  153 
:  danger  of  in  child 

study,  13-14 
:  defined,  72 
:  governed  by  know- 
ledge, 79-80 
:  how  to  guide,  76  ; 

80-1 
:  lessons     on,     77  ; 

137 
:  more  than  percep- 
tion, 73 
:  necessary    limita- 
tions of,  78-9 
:  need    of    guiding, 

75-6 
:  purposive,       79   ; 
169 

Olfactives,  86 
Olfactory  sensation,  58 
Organic  sensation,  57-9 
Organically  -  derived      interest, 

360 
Organon :  3a,con's,  195;  199 
Originative   :     illustrations    of, 
96 
,,  imagination,  89 

,,  reasoning,  173 

O'Shea  {quoted),  273 


»AIN     AND      CONATION, 

237 
,,       and  instinct  of  flight, 

255 
,,       and  interest,  347 
,,       sensation  :  55 
,,       :  use   of    in    breaking 

liabit,  239 


379 


Paradise  Lost :  an  example  of 
originative 
oi'  creative 
imagination, 
92 
,,  ,,     :  referred  to,  173 

Paradox  of  liedonisni,  38 
Parental  instinct,  263 
Particular  ideas,  110 
Pause,  value    of :    in    memor^^- 
work.  217 
,,  ,,        :    in    securing 

attention, 
342 
Perception,  Ch.  V.,  82 

,,         and  ideation,  73-8 
,,         and  sensation,  61-3 
,,         defined,  61 
,,         :  develnpment  of,  64 
,,  :  movement     and, 

65-66 
,,         :  origin  of,  62 
,,         :  subjective     factors 
in,  70 
Perceptual  centres,  63 

,,  ,,       :  reflex,  253; 

256 
Perfectionists,  292 
Perseveration,  206 

,,  and    association, 

207 
Personality    in   teaching,    261  ; 

298  ;  335 
Physiological  process  and  idea- 
tion, 112 
,,  ,,         and    sen- 

sation, 
32 
Pictures :  use    of    to   stimulate 

interest,  350 
I'llUhury :  experiments    with 
words,  70 
,,        :  on       formation      of 
hahits  and  associa- 
tions of  ideas,  221 
Plasticity,  203 
J'/u/o  (rjuo/'d),  289 
Play,  273 ;  364 
Pleasure-pain,  37-8 


Pleasure-pain  and  interest,   345 

,,  and   organisation 

of      instinctive 

tendencies,  235 

,,  and    praise     and 

blame,  297 
,,  :  relation  of  to  in- 

nate tendencies, 
279 
,,  :  use  of  in  educa- 

tion, 240 
Poetry  :  how  to  learn,  214 
Praise  :  influenceof  on  volitions, 
309 
,,      :  I'elation  of  to  reward, 

297 
,,      :  value  of,  296 
Premiss,  188 
Preparation  :  importance   of  in 

teaching,  259  ;  324 
Prestige  suggestion,  268 
Pride,  260 

Primary  memory  image,  84 
Primitive    sj^ontaneous     atten- 
tion, 343  ;  349 
Problems :  importance      of      in 
teaching,  183 
,,        :  need    for    practical, 
184 
Proportion  :  the  teaching  of,  135 
Proposition  :  singular,  157 
,,  :  universal,  157 

Psychology  :    analytic   and   ge- 
netic, 13-14 
,,  :    basis     of     educa- 

tional   theory, 
Ch.  I.,  87-8 
,,  :    definition  of,  15  ; 

18 
,,  :    of    rewards     and 

punishments, 
294 
Psycho-physical  disposition,  248 
Psycliosis,'  18 

Pugnacity  :  instinct  of,  259 
Puuislimont  :  object  of,  241 

,,  :  ])sycliolog3' of,  296 

,,  :  us(!    of    in    educa- 

tion, 245  ;  348 


380 


INDEX. 


Purpose  and  observation,  169 
,,      :  as  affecting  definition, 

142 
,,      :  iniportanceofawaken- 
ing  in  children,  228 


QUALITIES  :     ABSTRACT 
ideas  of,  131 

RATIO      AND      PROPOR- 
tion  :    the    teaching     of, 
135 
Raymont  {quoted),  311  ;  318 
Reason  :  features  of,  156 
Reasoning,  Ch.  IX. 

,,  and  analogy,  191 

„  and      apperception, 

321 
„  and  conception,  168 

„  and  imagination, 200 

,,  and  relevance,  177 

,,  :  deductive,  186 

,,  :  how  to  provoke,  183 

,,  :  inductive,  160 

,,  :  possibility      of      in 

lower  animals,  179 
„  :  processes  of,  183 

,,  :  proper,  175 

,,  :  superior    to     mere 

ideation,  178 
Recepts,  153 
Redintegration,  208  ;  317 
Reflex    action  :  perceptual,  253; 
256 
,,  ,,     :  physiological, 

26 ;  253 
,,  ,,     :  sensational,  30  ; 

253 
Reflexion  and  desire,  304 
Relations  :  abstract  ideas  of,  133 
,,         :  ideas  of  are  transitive 
states,  134 
Repetition  and  association,  214 
„         :  danger  of,  259  ;  335 
,,         :  use  of,  325 
Reproductive  imagination,  89 
Republic  {quoted),  289  ;  291 


Repulsion  :  instinct  of,  256 
Respect :  for  pupils,  98 

,,       :  sentiments  of,  286 
Rest,  33 

Retention  :  primary,  203 
Retentiveness,  203 

,,  and  nervous  sys- 

tem, 205 
Reward  and  punishment,    240  ; 
242  ;  296  ;  356  ;  366 
„       :  examples  of  use  of,  242 
, ,       :  influence  of    on   voli- 
tions, 308 
,,       :  psychology  of,  295-6 
Rhythm  :  value  of  in  memorj'- 

work,  217 
Ribot  {quoted),  355 
Rivalry  :  see  Emulation 
Rods  :  function  of  in  vision,  51 
Rolando  :  fissure  of,  18 
Rousseau :    on    need    for    child 

study,  10 
Ruedifjer :  experiments  of,  230 


SATISFACTION   AND 
pleasure,  236  {ft.  n. ) 
Schneider  {quoted),  256 
Secondarily     automatic   action, 

303 
Secondary    spontaneous    atten- 
tion, 352 
Self-abasement   (or  subjection)  : 
instinct  of,  260 
,,  activity  :  importance  of,  4  ; 

174 
,,  assertion  (or   self-displaj'^) : 

instinct  of,  260 
,,  consciousness,    261  ;    307  ; 

309 
,,  control,  306;  363 
,,  preservation  :    instinct    of, 

265 
,,  regarding  sentiment,    290; 
296  ;  298  ;  305  ; 
358 
,,         ,,  sentiment:    cona- 

tive  aspect  of 
308 


381 


Self -regarding  sentiment :    idea- 
tional aspect  of, 
307 
Sensation,  Ch.  IV. 

,,  and  attention,  46-7 

,,  and  cognition,  49-50 

,,         :  auditor}',  53 
,,         :  kini-estlietic,  55 
,,  of  dizziness,  53 

,,  of  vision,  44-5  ;  50 

,,         :  olfactory,  57 
,,         :  organic,  57-9 
,,         :  pain,  55 
,,  :  pure  sensations  im- 

possible, 45-6 
,,         :  taste,  56 
,,         :  temperature,  54-5 
,,         :  touch,  54 
Sensations  :  characters  of,  59-60 
Sense  organ,  56  (ft.  n.) 
Sensorj'  areas,  29 
Sentiments  and  feeling- tone,  287 
:  defined,  283 
,,         :  how  to  classify,  286 
,,         :  intellectual,  353 

:  moral,  300 
,,  :  nature  and  develop- 

ment of,  Ch.  XIII., 
351 
,,         :  relation  of  to  hap- 
piness  and  unhap- 
piness,  287 
,,         :  relation  of   to  joy 

and  sorroiv,  287 
,,         :  work  of  in  forming 
character,  292 
Signs,  and  words,  123 
Simple,  the,   relative  to  know- 
ledge, 147 
Singular  propositions,  157 
Skill  and  knowledge,  71-2 
SnoM'don  :  old  woman  on,  285 
Social  and  moral  action,  313 

,,     consciousness,  29.5  ;  313 
Socrates  :  referred  to,9  ;  148  ;  287 
Speech  centres  :  description  of, 
103 
,,  ,,       :  development 

of,  107 


Spencer  {quoted),  30  (  ft.  n.);  219 
(ft.  n.);  223 
,,     referred  to,  273 
Spontaneous  attention,   359 

,,  ,,         :  apper- 

c  e  p  t  i  v  e, 
354  ;  359 
,,  ,,         :   derived 

acquired, 
360 
,,  ,,         :  im  m  e  - 

diate     ac- 
quired, 360 
,,  ,,  :  pr  im  i- 

tive,   343; 
349  ;  360 
,,  ,,         :  secon- 

dary, 352 ; 
360*^ 
Stimulus  and   nervous  impulse, 
23 
,,        defined,  23 
Stout  {quoted),  236  ;  322  ;  356 
Striving :     distinguished     from 

conation,  41 
Subconscious  experience,  204 
Subject  and  object,  36  ;  48  ;  70 
Subjection  :  emotion  of,  260 
Subjective  idealism,  49 

,,  selection :     law      of, 

236 
Suggestion  and     suggestibility, 
268 
,,  by  similars,  210 

,,  :  how  to  use  in  teach- 

ing, 269 
SuUt/  :  on  conception  and  judg- 
ment, 138 
,,     :  on  influence  of  feeling  on 

attention,  346 
,,     :  referred  to,  89 
Syllogism,  187 
Sylvius :  fissure  of,  18 
Sympathetic  system,  28 
Sympathy,  266  ;  284  ;  368 
Synapse,  22 

Synthesis  and  analysis,  199 
,,  and  ideation,  119 
,,        and  universals,  155 


382 


INDEX. 


Systems  of  thought,  156  ;  159 ; 
161  ;  177 


TEACHER     AND     CHILD 
study,  11-12 
,,  :  as  educator,  9-14 

,,  :  as  instructor,  8-9 

,,  :    as  psychologist, 

87-8  ;  368 
,,  :  qualifications   of, 

1  ;  261 
Telephone  sj^stem  :    as  illustra- 
ting nervous  system,  32 
Temperament,  312 
Temperature  sensations,  54-5 
Tendencies  :  modification  of  by 

pleasure-pain,  240  ;  243 
Tendency-derived  feeling,  238 
Tender  emotion,  263 
Ttmiyson  {quoted),  156 
Thoiiidike  [quoted),   227  ;   278  ; 
368 
,,  :    referred    to,    279  ; 

349  (ft.  n.) 
Thought  centres,  104 

,,         links  :  importance  of  in 
memory  work,  219 
Three  Bears,    The :  referred  to, 

353 
Touch  sensations,  54 


UNITY  IN  DIFFERENCE, 
181 
Universals,  155  ;  157 
Uranus  :  irregularities  of  leading 
to  reasoning,  156 


VARIETY    AND    ATTEN- 
tion,  343 
Visiles,  86 
Visual  image  inverted,  51 


Volition,  304 
Volitional  attention,  358 

,,  ,,  :  explicit 

and  implicit 

forms       of, 

361 

Volitions  :  elementary,  examples 

of,  308-10 

Voluntary :  ambiguity    of     the 

word  as  applied  to 

attention,  342 ;  359 

,,  attention,  342  ;  354  ; 

359 


WALT    WHITMAN  (quo- 
ted), 252 
Watt,  H.  J.  (quoted),  215 
Welton    (quoted),    5;    69;    122; 

147  ;  191  ;  269  ;  328  ;  348  ;  349  ; 

356 
Whately,  ArchJip.  (quoted),  124  ; 

195 
Whole  :  apprehension  of  the,  113 
Will,  Ch.  XIV. 

,,    :  effort  of,  305 

,,    :  meanings  of,  302-6 
Winch  (quoted),  74 

,,     :  on  object-lessons,  77 
Wonder  :  emotion  of,  257 
Woodwork  :  use  of  in  schools, 

65 
Words  and  abstract  ideas,  129 
,,      and  signs,  123 
,,      and  thought,  123 

,,    :  experiments  with,  70 


Y 
Z 


0  UTirS   COM  PA  NION  : 
referred  to,  354 

OLA  :  AS  TYPE  OF    OL- 

factive,  86 


PRINTED   AT  THE   BDKLINGTON   PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE. 


^f^^ 


/  7^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV?    1951 


Form  L9-2.5»(-9,'47(A5618)444 


D89     D-ur-ville    - 


The   fundamentals 
of  n.^ychn!  0"^r. 


UC  SOUTHFR-:  RF'IC'.iL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  952  846    4 


%J^U'H 


iViUV   2  2  1926 


LB 

105l 

d89 


